


Silver Claws and Cat Tails

by Abby_Ebon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For lazycrazykitten! X-Men Crossover. Slash! With great power comes... a lot of fur, apparently. As if wizards needed something else to discriminate against...luckily the Brotherhood likes fur just fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Mutant

**Author's Note:**

> ...this, my darling readers is why you mention pairings you would like to see in reviews. See, this is what we call an authoress' "oops, where the hell did you come from"? Well, I can trace the origin of this one to a review I got in, "In A Name", a review by a certain lazycrazykitten who said something along the lines of "right up there with Harry/Logan from X-Men". I think I can also point to my Remus/Remy one-shot bunny. Opps.
> 
> This is for you, lazycrazykitten, think of it as a thank-you.

_People who talk about growing pains_ , Harry Potter mused as he curled in a fetal position – bottom lip sucked into his mouth, from which trickles of blood escaped from, _have no idea_. It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming or going off the deep end and laughing until he died choking on his own blood.

To say he was in pain would have gotten you a kick in the shin a "no duh" look that'd send you to the deepest pit in hell.

Harry didn't quite know why – because he was, after all, distracted by blinding pain – but it felt as if his skin was on fire. In fact – as he curled out of his fetal position long enough to wrap his hands around his shoulders and start to itch – it felt as if something where crawling under his skin.

His skin, in great bloody clumps, started to fall off – and that was when he begun to wonder if he was going to survive whatever was happening to him.

He didn't have time to think anything else as his spine gave a twitch that knocked him breathless onto his back – and he screamed as his spine started to grow out of his ass. Through skin (or was that fur?) – muscle, and blood, finally –blessedly, his spine stopped twitching and growing – and panting sobs filled the air.

The air it's self seemed to twitch in sympathy – but, no – that was his magic. Because he was in pain, and magic was as useless as a freaking piece of glass stuck in his heel – he didn't give a damn if his magic was twanging in sympathy or not – it just coated the air and waited for whatever this was to subside.

Only – it wasn't over – not yet, his ears felt as if someone were yanking on them – pulling them out of his skull. It brought a whimper to his lips and yet more tears. Then, when it passed, it just felt as if everything ached.

As if a final defiance – he felt his thighs tighten, the muscles bunching – the bones shortening, and strengthening in ways he had never thought to use them. The soles of his feet tingled and that was his only warning as pain jolted through him and his feet felt as if they grew, the heel arching – the toes stretching and lengthening in structure – and when he peeled an eye open, he saw they were like a cats hind legs.

In relief, for nothing more seemed to be happening – what else he saw was a mess. There was blood – so much of it really was a wonder he was still alive, and skin – what looked like all his skin. It looked like someone had skinned him. Blinking down at his hands he saw his fingers – webbed together with thick skin, luckily the thumbs were still free…but his nails…they weren't there – just when he was about to panic, five claws sprang from his finger tips. Claws.

 _What am I_? Harry asked himself very seriously when he saw that the thick skin gave way to white fur along his hands, arms – his shoulders were covered with it – and when he reached behind himself to touch his back he found plenty of fur feeling hair there too, and though the fur was sparse along his stomach and groin – it was there too. Harry inhaled when he spotted something twitch out of the corner of his eye. When he looked he found…a tail. He blinked but the long white appendage didn't disappear. He remembered the absolute agony of growing it- but hadn't noticed it until he saw it.

It was then he decided he needed a mirror. A mirror grew out of the wall – as if it had always been there, waiting for him to think of it. Harry saw, reluctantly, the white fur that covered his body – it was shortest along his face, where the fur curved with his features – though his nose and mouth now looked more like a cat's maw. He wasn't wearing his glasses – yet he could see every detail perfectly, as if his vision narrowed in to focus on what he wanted to look at.

His ears were stark white against the wild black of his hair, his eyes were still the brilliant green of his mother's but the pupil was narrow like a cats. He had whiskers.

 _I'm a cat._ Harry thought very carefully – his tail gave an irritated twitch.

A wizards or witches majority – the time when their magic fully manifested and they were able to control not only their core magic but the magic, to some extent, around them. Usually it occurred in their teenage years, until after he had killed Voldemort they had thought he had already gone through it without knowing what it was – then he had been tested and found that he was a very late bloomer. He was nineteen – most reached their magical majority during their Hogwarts years, most of the time the magic in the school quickened it. Harry had found he was "very special" and would therefore be very powerful – to give a estimation of the power he would be able to wield, well there was no 'modern' comparison except to Merlin, who'd reached his majority at eighteen. They'd only told him it would be between Merlin's and a half-god.

And it would hurt. And, likely, he wouldn't want to get out of bed for a week.

They'd gotten that right, but – he was absolutely filthy, and he stank – and blood and skin weren't the greatest things to smell. He wished it would all go away when he wasn't looking. He turned to the bathroom, wondering if he had the will to get up and turn on the water and just lay there until his bones stopped rattling and his muscles stopped aching – but first he'd have to get rid of the mess.

He looked down to find nothing – no blood, no skin – it was as if the whole thing had never happened. Harry took a shuddering breath and reminded himself to be careful about what he thought he wanted or wished or needed. Things had gotten complicated, fast, and he didn't much care for it.

Shakily, he stood – his tail lashing about to keep his balance as he wobbled. Impossibly, his toes took his weight with no protest, it was an odd sensation; like walking on his toes, but different, almost more comfortable – the soles, no pads - of his feet –paws? -were more sensitive, highly alert to the changes in the wood he walked upon and adjusting his weight accordingly with the added help of his tail.

One step at a time, he made it to the bathtub, turned on the water – inhaled, found it too cold, and turned the hot water all the way on. With a last look at the mirror that showed his back, torso, ass, thighs, and legs covered in white fur, he got in, closed his eyes, and rested, determined to relax he'd let Hermione figure out what he'd become.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Do you know how incredible this is?" Hermione exclaimed upon sitting him down and examining him sometime later. Ron was not helping, he looked amused – and a little embarrassed about how his wife was acting. Not that Harry expected much from him; they'd both known Hermione since Hogwarts and there was no changing her genius or enthusiasm for learning.

"Hermione, he's a bloody _cat_." Ron said with a roll of his eyes.

"No – not just _that_ ; Harry wish for something!" Hermione demanded, and Harry only cringed, her voice was half a yell – and he was right in front of her. Harry glanced down to the floor, wondering what he should wish for. The last few times it had been an accident.

His fur was still damp, for Hermione and Ron had worried for him – the majority was only supposed to last a day and they'd put him next to the biggest magical source they could find on land to quicken his magic. It made most peoples magic flutter to a stop just to be near Stonehenge – even muggles got goose bumps – but Harry barely felt the place, and really couldn't see what was so important about a bunch of stones. Maybe if Hermione could examine them, she'd leave him alone. Nah, she'd probably multitask both.

He wished his fur wasn't damp. Harry looked down to see that it wasn't. Hermione and Ron noticed it too, only Hermione didn't snicker – Ron did. His fur was _fluffy_.

"S-sorry, mate." Ron said though his chuckles. Harry sighed, he should have known better.

"Well, you could have tried for something else, because I think your magic goes wonky when it concerns doing magic on yourself…but that's it exactly – Harry doesn't need a wand. What Harry wants his magic provides him with – it's _fascinating_." Hermione gushed; Harry wondered if it was worth finding out if he could still run his fingers through his hair without scalping himself or tearing his hair out. He decided not to risk it.

"But, Hermione – that's the same thing with magical children before they go to Hogwarts – only we call it uncontrolled magic." Ron said in a confused manner, Harry's lips twitched in amusement – now Ron had done it, Hermione was going to lecture him and all Harry was going to do was sit back and watch.

"That's a misconception – wizards and witches have uncontrolled magical bursts through out their lives, usually called by heightened emotions – but it is harnessed and later used in the manner the individual learned in their school. Now imagine an individual who didn't need to so much as whisper a word or flick a wand to have magic leap to do their bidding – and could be perfectly calm while going about it. That is what power Harry has – he'll likely never need a wand again. Merlin referred to it as wild magic – not uncontrolled, yet – somehow, Harry has accomplished what not even Merlin could – _harnessing_ wild magic." Hermione stated waving her hand toward Harry, who felt as if he might blush at the look of awe that hovered about Ron's features.

"B-but, what about the cat-look, what's that got to do with wild magic?" Ron asked then, frowning at the sudden thought – Hermione shrugged, grinning.

"I really don't know, I guess I'll just have to study him to find out." Hermione looked far too enthusiastic about the prospect.

"I'm sitting right here you know, and it's not like you can study me without my permission." Harry stated, amusement glittering in his green eyes when Hermione turned to him with pleading eyes.

"Please, let me? Oh, _please_ , Harry?" Ron gave Harry a look over Hermione's head – a look that plainly said "just agree already!" Harry decided to take Ron's silent advice – it wasn't as if he didn't need her help.

"Fine, fine – just one needle a day though." Harry agreed – he had been kidding, but when Hermione brought out a needle to draw his blood, it was clear she had taken him seriously. Harry let her draw the blood, though he did wonder how many needles Hermione thought she needed in her purse. On second thought – he _really_ didn't want to know.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Any results?" Harry asked Hermione when she came by the next day, she wore a frown, and when she looked up her expression was very solemn. Ron wasn't with her, and he wondered if that was significant as he led her to sit in the living room, settling down on the chair beside her (he had learned he literally had to sit or lay on the furniture bedding or cushion).

"Harry, you have to know- I ran the tests over and over again, but your blood shows a mutation that is not magically natural or natural at all, not even in muggles..." Hermione began haltingly, nibbling on her bottom lip to read his expression.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked feeling as if he was about to be sick.

"It shows that you are a mutant – it's been in the news recently –especially in the Americas where the X-Men and Brotherhood are…my parents have sent letters, wondering if witches and wizards are mutants by another name – but we aren't; you are somehow magical and a mutant…" Hermione stated softly, watching him with wary eyes.

 _Am I really so fierce looking that she would fear me?_ Harry wondered, hurt, but did not speak his fears aloud.

"Ron knows?" Harry asked, even he heard the emptiness in his own tone.

"Yes, he…he…oh, Harry – he's told the Ministry, they are in Council, I nearly couldn't get away to see you as Ron's sent them to watch my house…" Hermione looked away, and Harry would have blind to have not to have seen the tears on her eyes – he had smelt them when she'd walked in.

"A Council…what are they meeting for?" Harry asked, though he suspected – he had to be sure, had to know that what he feared was happening and wasn't just a runaway imagination.

"To decide…if you should be allowed to live – or if you must be killed for the greater good of the whole…" Hermione's voice cracked at the end, and harry found he could not blame her.

"Indeed? Do they think they can make even that choice for me? I will go to the Council." Something in Harry's stomach jolted, and he found himself where he had willed the wild magic to take him – there were gasps, and yells of surprise. No one yet had called out for the guards, but some had wands in hand.

"Magic shall not work _here_." Harry hissed the demand – so he had declared – so the wild magic obeyed.

"H-Harry, is that you?" Asked one of the men in the Council, slowly, Harry nodded. There was no mistaking his eyes – and the scar on his forehead still marked him as the Boy Who Lived, and his black hair was still a marked feature.

"See – I told you, he has become a mutant monster!" Ron called from the back, his eyes wild, Harry found himself curling his lip in a sneer.

"Is that what all of you truly believe?" Harry demanded of them, snarling the words – none of them looked him in the eye, none of them denied it.

"What right does the lot of _you_ , have to decide if I live or die?" Harry hissed at them, his tail thrashing about like a live thing all on its own. He did was not aware of it but his ears were pressed to his skull, and his claws extended in his fury.

"We are the Council of this magical community, and as a citizen of this community your actions –" Started one of the elders, though he was silenced – choking on his own words, when Harry's attention fixed on him.

"Then I am not a citizen – you call me, the once hero of the magical world – the once Boy Who Lived, a mutant monster. I say – better a _monster_ then a community of _cowards_!" Harry howled in response, the last words rose to a pitch alike a cat's cry.

"I denounce the magical community – from this day forth, I cut my ties from you – it is my _will_ that my properties, money, and all assets will not be found or touched by any hand but mine or my heir's hands." The wild magic clung to him like a cloak, doing his bidding to make his will so.

"I shall not seek you out – and if you seek me, expect a _monsters_ welcome!" Harry promised softly, then inhaled, breathed in the fear and heard their pulses and hearts beating in terrified random rhythms – it was then that he remembered what Hermione had said.

_"…you are a mutant – it's been in the news recently –especially in the Americas where the X-Men and Brotherhood are…"_

_America,_ he thought his heart heavy that he would have to leave Hermione – who he felt was still his only friend, _I need to go to America._ But his choice was made and the Council would not – could not – punish Hermione for his actions now that he had cut ties with them.

Wild magic whirled about him like a tornado, knowing he needed to go to America – and knowing the X-Men and Brotherhood was where his need lingered upon – so wild magic did as it was bid, it was just bad luck Harry ended up in the middle of a fight between the Brotherhood and X-Men.


	2. Magic-And-Mutants

The only sound that could be heard was that of nails tapping on a table top. Hermione looked down at a table that was clustered with bits of newspapers and letters. The letters were addressed to her, from her parents, and if she so desired she could read them word for word without looking down. The picture on the newspaper moved, proving its origin to be magical. It was a gruesome scene – one that had stirred the hearts of many of the magical world.

A little girl sobbed, held by a young woman – a Defender, what the Council had renamed the Auror's after the Ministry had been usurped. It was a overthrowing that Hermione had approved of, but now she was regretting ever proposing it to Ron and Harry. In the wake of Voldemort's fall, this was the new worry of the magical world.

In the caption it read that a well known family of purebloods had been vacationing in America, then been attacked by "mutants". Mutants as a whole, viewed by the wizards and witches had been given the "beast" classification of highest danger rank. That had only been the beginning – when the family had retaliated with magic, they found that –somehow, impossibly – the mutants had been unaffected.

Not even the dreaded Forbidden Spells had wielded an effect. Against mutants, it was feared, magic was powerless. "Credited" theories that fought to explain this "abomination of evolution" ran rampant – that a wizard and muggle had bred, and produced a squib with resistance of magic – and that squib had bred and spawned a the race of mutants, was the most popular at the height of the hysteria. What little defense was accredited to this theory was that mutants seemed to appear with no family connection to each other, and were inherently from all walks of life.

In light of that, it was thought by many that this act was done in the primitive times, when the magical world ruled, and humanity was just beginning to come out of its caves and trees. While there were legends aplenty of wizards and witches taking a muggle to their bed, rarely did such unions result in children. It was why wizards and witches born of muggles puzzled the magical world so. In the height of panic after the discovery, it was implied all "Mudbloods" and "Half Bloods" were mutants – not true wizards and witches.

It was then that Harry stepped in, and though his own blood was mixed, his significance as savior and hero out weighed any suspicion of his heritage. If Harry had only had the wild magic change his appearance, no one in the magical community would have so much as blinked – magic had done, and what known to do, stranger things. He had called the Council to order – boldly, he had put himself in the position of the voice of the Mudbloods and Half Bloods, and had forced the magical community to see reason.

Mutants could not be entirely immune to magic – for they hadn't found them and struck them down. Over a series of tests, it was uncovered that mutants were unaffected by direct attack or defense spells – but that subtle spells, like making them overlook certain people, did still worked. It was not yet known if potions would work – for Harry had never gotten the chance to test it.

The magical world had then uncovered that Harry hadn't come into his majority – calculations had predicted he would be as powerful as Merlin, or more so – and the Council had rejoiced, for it was known that wild magic which wizards and witches were wary of, could be "harnessed" at a majority age near Harry's own nineteen years.

If anything in their arsenal could defend against the mutants, it would be a wizard who wielded wild magic.

Hermione closed her eyes, her fingers ceasing to tap out the annoyed rhythm, everything Harry had done was now a moot point – the purebloods of the magical world were in a heated frenzy, and the Council's hands were tied. Harry had renounced them – not the other way around - if they retaliated, and if Harry – who had worked with mutants and knew them best – had ties they did not know of within the mutant community, they risked war if they attempted his life. They risked war with mutants – and within themselves, for Harry – despite being the monstrous combination of wild magic wieldier and mutant, was still the once savoir.

"Hermione, this would be easier – and go faster- if you just told us where he went." Ron said softly from beside her, he had been so silent, that up till now she could have ignored him – now she could not.

"Like when I told you what he was, in truth, and had your word that you would not tell a soul?" Hermione asked bitterly, the betrayal still stinging. What was worse was that Ron had waited until she was asleep to sneak off like a rat to betray Harry out of fear.

"This is a matter of magic over word, Hermione." Ron insisted, glancing to the newspaper articles.

"So, husband mine – what happens when the Council comes for my blood?" Hermione asked, not turning her eyes to meet his. He heard him shuffle a foot back and forth nervously, and could imagine him biting on his bottom lip.

"That won't happen," he said then sounding reassured in his logic, "Harry's already proved that Mudbloods and Half Bloods aren't the same as mutants." Ron assured her, out of the corner of her eye she saw him grinning, smug in his surety. Her nails dug into her palms.

"Harry is a mutant; the Council could have that dismissed in favor of that fact." Hermione had been a fool to trust him, but being in love had made her blind to his faults and fears. She could only hope that Harry was safe – and not where she thought he was, for she could only say nothing for so long before they had the reasonable doubt necessary to use the Truth potion.

"They wouldn't do that." Ron choked out, seemingly stunned dumb by the idea. Hermione closed her eyes and fought not to yell and scream in the face of his blindness. An owl flew through the window – its black feathers tinged Council green.

 _We shall see husband-mine, we shall see._ Hermione thought as she watched Ron reach for the owl's message, opening it, and paling a sickly white that made his freckles stand out starkly.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

 _I wonder if this happens to everyone,_ Harry thought as he found himself on the ground and rolling away from an earthquake he could feel from the tips of his toes to the fur of his tail, _or am I just special?_

"Damn-it, sorry – quick - duck and roll that tail!" A voice called out as a red blast hit near his tail, blasting some of the earth he had been standing on only a moment ago – Harry was quick to turn in the direction of the blast, to see who had tried to hit him.

Only to meet a man with a red visor – his fingers hovering on a knob, as if undecided – Harry felt himself freeze up, watching in slow motion as the visor lifted, releasing a burst of red force-light.

"Shit, no – Cyclops, you idiot; get him out of here, Quicksilver!"

One moment he was watching in slow motion as he was about to maybe get his ribs broken– the next he was tucked against someone's chest, moving – then set down, a reckless grin and dancing blue eyes meeting his astonished gaze. Cockily, silver hair flicked in the direction of the man with the red visor.

"Got-to-move-faster-then– _that_!" Exclaimed the teenager, and proceeded to prove his words becoming a blur of silver and blue, headed next to the older teen who had been calling out orders and warnings alike.

 _Who are you?_ A female's voice within his mind demanded, and Harry looked up, to where he sensed the origin of the mind who spoke to him so boldly. A red haired woman, surrounded by flames that danced and skipped over her body observed him from behind the man with a red visor.

 _Tell me, or I will take the knowledge from you._ She threatened, lifting her lips in a snarl, Harry narrowed his eyes, and felt his spine stiffen and ears press against his skull. A low growl echoed up from his chest, and he met her eyes and he knew his mind to be protected.

 _You will not, and who I am is not your concern_. Harry told her, it clearly appeared that what he had done –deny her his mind and identity, which was, after all, personal - no one had done before him. She shook with anger and the flame leapt around her in response. Harry thought it impressive – for a fireworks display.

"Scarlet Witch – Pyro, attack now – while she's distracted!" The brown haired man called out, taking advantage of the red haired woman's temper tantrum. As one fire and red sparks came up, creating a wall between the brown haired red-visor man and the red haired telepathic fire starter. Harry would have felt bad about the two-to-one odds; but the two of them seemed to be more then a match for the four teenagers they faced.

"Hey – erm, you alright?" The brown haired boy, who looked the type that Aunt Petunia would have stuck her nose up at, asked in a manner that was both wary in a embarrassed sort of way. Harry liked him almost at once – and it had absolutely nothing to do with the boy saving his ass twice.

"Fine." Harry answered, wondering if he could escape – one of them could run faster then he could – one of them could do something like miniature earthquakes (for why else would he have apologized for Harry's sake if not because of that?) and the other two could form fire and red sparks together.

"Ah, we're sorry you sort of just stepped in on that…" Sheepishly, the brown haired one ruffled his own hair, looking to the woman and guy Harry hadn't yet met – he seemed to indicate they should introduce themselves.

"It was Quicksilver's fault – he pulled down One-Eyes pants – Miss Fire-Bird didn't like that too much, though it was kind of funny at the time. I'm Pyro – our brave and noble leader is Avalanche." The guy explained his hair was black and ginger, an interesting mix that didn't keep Harry from chucking when Avalanche flushed red, having forgotten to introduce himself.

"Their 'names' are Cyclops and Phoenix, Pyro. Mine's Scarlet Witch – and you've already met my brother." The woman had blue eyes like Quicksilver, but the family resemblance ended with her black hair. Avalanche was dressed in street clothes – Quicksilver in a form fitting blue and silver suit that reminded Harry of a tight gym outfit – Pyro wore an interesting mix of leather and fishnet, and Scarlet Witch wore a, well, scarlet trench coat and black fishnet shirt and jeans. None of them looked like they were organized, but they had a "group" feel to them. That and the code names were a big clue.

"Ah, enough of this nice-to-meet-you-shit, what-do-you-call-yourself?" Quicksilver demanded, coming near enough to touch Harry, and while he looked fascinated by him (much to Harry's embarrassment) he didn't quite dare. Which Harry was instantly grateful for, while he had bathed in his fur – he had no idea what it would feel like to have someone touch him – or try to pet him.

He had the sudden inspired notion that introducing himself as "Harry" likely wouldn't be such a great idea (besides the obvious teasing of hair-fur similarities) because the magical community would be looking for him, and any whisper of his name would stir interest. Harry wracked his brain for an answer, and decided on the spot "Boy" would be good enough for now – mostly because of his Aunt and Uncle, he decided he'd play the "tragic past" card (if it would, which it would eventually come around to) – ignoring that he'd been seen as a hero since he was eleven. Looking as oblivious as he could manage, he spoke.

"Haven't got one…" A frowning Quicksilver looked to his sister, who shrugged; Scarlet Witch gave him a smile and a look of honest sincerity.

"That's alright; we'll just have to find one for you!" It would have been more believable if she didn't look so enthusiastic at the prospect of naming him. Pyro and Avalanche shared a look, one that was clearly "do not get involved". They were wise – and Harry was going to give them hell.

"…you don't have to go to the trouble…" Harry murmured softly giving his best, "aw shucks" look.

"No – really, naming you would be our pleasure…" Scarlet Witch insisted, and smiling in a way that reminded Harry of a fox, she went to him and led him, rambling the whole way, to a beaten up truck that looked to have seen better days.

Avalanche was quick to take the drivers seat – Pyro taking shotgun, which left Harry squished between the twins (for they were too close in age to be anything but). Harry did learn some interesting things – Avalanche's real name was "Lance", Pyro's was better off not known for he didn't answer to anything other then his "mutant name"; Scarlet Witch was "Wanda", and Quicksilver was "Pietro", and the two of them were "the bosses" kids.

Harry could only wonder, with a bit of amusement, what he had gotten himself into.


	3. What's-In-A-Mutant-Name

Harry's first impression when he found himself looking up at a two story house, badly in need of repair, among other things – was to wonder if there was room to fit all five of them comfortably.

It was then he realized there would be more then the five of them as a young woman exited, her arms on her jean clad hips – curly brown hair went to her shoulders, she was pretty, but her most striking feature were the streaks of white hair that framed her face. She too seemed to like fishnet, for Harry could see quite plainly the sports bra she wore beneath the black fishnet.

"Ah swear, next time ya go out when ya know Magneto told us not to, Ah'll be the one to skin ya." No matter how lovely she was, she practically hissed the words as the four filed out of the vehicle, hesitating for only the fact that she was concentrating on her companions and not on the stark white furred man-cat in the back seat, Harry followed them, wondering how it was that all but Scarlet Witch was cringing away from the lithe young woman who had every inch of skin covered, save her face.

"Aw, come on Rogue – it was just a bit of fun. Pietro pulled Scott's pants down – tell me you don't want to at least peek at that?" Wanda teased, and Rogue's lips twitched in amusement that it was very obvious she was trying to hide.

"Boxers or briefs, fille?" A voice teased, and out of the house came a messy brown haired man, he was taller then 'Rogue', and spoke with an accent that sounded French but was otherwise unlike anything Harry had ever heard before. Normally Harry didn't pay much attention to a person's eyes, but this man made it impossible to not notice his eyes – they were like a demon, black all around, with a gleaming red center.

He smiled at Wanda, but she smirked in reply her eyes dancing in mirth, though it seemed like an old familiarity – friendship, rather then anything serious. Rogue did look interested despite her self, and perhaps that was their goal.

"Nothing there, Gambit – got it wrong this time, the man goes commando." Wanda retorted, and Rogue flushed, causing Pyro to chuckle under his breath.

"Gambit curious,mon ami, where did you pick up th' stray?" Gambit asked, eyes traveling to Harry eyeing him up and down, curiosity and something darker lucked in the those eyes.

"Stepped into the battle from no where – almost plowed him under, then One-Eye tried to blast him." Pyro told Gambit, faking his ease, there was tenseness between the two that was nearly touchable; it spoke of an old rivalry. Perhaps something of it lingered for Gambit only shrugged a shoulder not speaking, though Rogue did, looking over Harry in earnest, as Gambit seemed to have approved of him there was no question of his stay.

"Wha' are ya called?" Rogue asked him, and the Scarlet Witch bounced on the balls of her heels, grinning – which was quick to catch Rogue's attention.

"He doesn't have a name, Rogue – we'll have to make something for him!" Wanda was clearly very excited about the prospect, and Gambit gave a little grimace of pity. Harry wondered if it was too late to have a spectacular revelation and tell them his name, because – if it was anything to go by – "making up" a name for him seemed to fascinate the girls – and Pietro. Harry swallowed, and then Lance clapped him on the back, looking boldly into Gambit's eerie eyes.

"He'll be staying in Pyro's and my room, alright Gambit?" Lance stated, and though his fingers didn't flex or tense, Harry knew he was prepared to fight to get things to go the way he wanted them to be.

"If that be the way you want it, mon ami, Gambit be fine with it, jus' be sure to keep the stray out of Gambit's way." With a dismissive flick of his hand, Gambit went back within the house – he had worn a trench coat, which Harry hadn't noticed until he'd left, when it swirled around his feet and into the house.

With him gone, Lance's tensed shoulders relaxed and his hand fell away from Harry's back. Pyro looked worriedly to Lance, who gave him a half smile, it was then that Pietro sighed, the tension along his spine easing as he let himself relax enough not to speed out of sight.

"We'll show you to your room – c'mon Pietro, Rogue…" Wanda called, for she had already entered the house and obviously expected Rogue, Pietro and Harry to follow along behind her. Pietro gave them both a grin and sped off to get there ahead of time, Rogue followed at a mellower pace, and Harry only spared a glance back at Lance and Pyro before following her.

When they thought he was out of ear shot, he heard them as if they were standing right beside him, merely out of sight.

"That was close Lance – too damned close for comfort, you shouldn't push him like that," Pyro warned his voice a soft hissing whisper, "you know as well as I do that Gambit is as unstable as they come. Worse that Magneto put him below you as second instead of me, but you and I know he's the more powerful of either of us."

"The kid needed help, Pyro – what was I supposed to do, leave him? Looking like he does he's lucky to have survived as long as he has, besides, the Brotherhood needs new members." Lance told him in turn, and Harry narrowed his eyes pausing, and flicking them in the direction of the door.

"Yeah – be sure to point that out to Magneto and Mystique before they catch sight of him. Worse would be that they give Sabertooth a try at training him. Cats, you know how they think – like to likeness, and all that shit." Pyro muttered, the resentment practically seeping in his tone.

"I won't let that happen." Lance murmured his tone biting.

"Yeah – and who's going to stop them from doing what they want to us and the rest of the Brotherhood? That's what you wanted for the kid – protection, but he's not going to get it any easier here then out there." Pyro argued, his voice rising so that if Harry hadn't had such sensitive hearing, he would have made out the raised voice, though likely not the words that rung clear as bells in his head.

"He'll have a better chance with us." Lance told him at last, and Harry heard him walk towards the entrance of the house, Harry jerked into motion –hoping to avoid Lance, only to find himself walking into someone else, sending both of them to the floor. Harry quickly got to his feet, fearing it might have been one of the girls – or worse, Gambit, who he'd run into only to meet curly brown hair and the accruing brown eyes of a young man who looked about his age, sprawled on the ground in a odd position. Fearing he'd hurt the other, Harry went over to him, hoping he hadn't hurt the other.

"Oh – I'm, ah, sorry – are you alright?" Harry asked haltingly, for there had been nothing from the other, only accusing brown eyes, slowly he rose to his feet though he looked strangely deformed, crouched, though his body was hid by the baggy jeans and loose blue sweater.

He grunted in the back of his throat, sounding oddly like a croak, and brushed past Harry without saying a word. Harry was left blinking after him; he shook his head ridding himself of his confusion, and looked to where Wanda and the others had gone off to. He started in that direction, only to come to a split in the hall – one went upstairs, and the other off in a different place in the house.

Harry sighed, feeling frustration build within his chest, he felt pitiful and alone, he felt, more then heard the feelings within him building and he was fairly certain he wanted to yell, or cry – or _something_ to voice his emotions to the world.

He felt it crawl up his throat and out his mouth, weakly, Harry mewled. It sounded like a cat's cry.

"Oh- there you are – come on, the girls are waiting." Pietro appeared from the top of the stairs, feeling somewhat ashamed at having been caught at doing something that was very not "normal", Harry followed him until, walking, they came to a door painted earthen brown around the frame and fiery red on all the rest, with a slight grin, Harry turned to Pietro for an explanation.

"Lance and Pyro couldn't decide which color they wanted so there was a coin toss to see who painted the door and who painted the frame – Lance lost." Pietro told him pushing the door open, Harry followed after, and the first thing he saw was a bunk bed – the bottom covered in clothes he hoped were clean, and gathered around were Wanda and Rogue sitting on a big bed that took up most of the room. Wanda patted the covers beside her with a smile.

"How does 'Tails' sound?" She asked as he sat down, feeling oddly skittish he pulled his tail into his lap, fiddling with the silky silver fur. He tilted an ear, hoping this wouldn't take long, or turn into a shouting match.

"Ah – don't be dumb, Wanda, he only got one tail, so it wouldn't make sense; Silverclaw would go better, wha' wit' his silver fur." Rogue interrupted, and Wanda rolled her eyes and smiled in a way that wasn't very nice looking at Rogue, who narrowed her eyes.

"His claws aren't visible all the time – and I have never seen one of them – do you even have claws? Yuki means snow in Japanese – and it is his fur color, after all." Wanda asked him, but he didn't answer right away, and Rogue took it to mean he didn't have any. He hoped she wouldn't take it too badly when she found out she was wrong.

"No – just **no** , Wanda, we aren't callin' him somethin' half of us don't know how to say properly. He looks like a cat – what about Bengal – like the tiger." Rogue nodded toward his tails and ears pointedly, Wanda pouted for a moment, and then grinned.

"Nah – he'd sound like a bagel if we say it too quick in battle, what about Silver Paw – or White Fang – or even White Cat?" Wanda suggested hoping to pacify the other girl from taking her suggestion from Silverclaw. Rogue would have none of it though, and shook her head, stubborn.

"No – your Scarlet Witch, speedy is Quicksilver, that's enough two-worded names for this team. Beside' White Fang is a wolf – and White Cat just sounds like you'd expect him to look like this forever – don't want that, better off with something dark if he isn't able to control the change later on – like Dark Night, Feral, Sphinx, Claws, Nightmare, or Maahes." Rogue suggested, rattling off the names one after another – for each one Harry's tail twitched or his ears flattened, despite that he tried to hide his displeasure.

"Dark Night doesn't make sense, Rogue – he is silvery-white and fluffy, whose going to think he's a Nightmare? Feral and Claws would work – if he was like a Wildcat, but he's kind of cute and cuddly –Sphinx might work if he could keep his face normal while turning into a lion…but I don't think that's exactly safe to try – besides can you see Gambit saying Sphinx without choking?" Wanda giggled at the thought, and Rogue rolled her eyes, lips twitching.

"What about Maahes?" Rogue asked, having noticed that Wanda hadn't shot it down.

"What does that mean anyway?" Wanda asked then, brow furrowed in confusion.

"An Egyptian lion-god of war; I think his name means something like "he who is true beside her". He's the son of Bast – or Sekhmet, 'pending on who you ask." Rogue informed her warily, knowing at this rate the poor boy would be called "Kitty", and no one would look at him without laughing.

"No one really knows that god, so it'd be lost on them and that'd be pointless, he'd be better off as a Nekomata or Grimalkin." Wanda told her good-naturedly, seeing Rogue's confusion she explained.

"In Japanese folklore Bakeneko is a supernatural cat, like the fox or raccoon dogs there. At a certain time its tail splits in two and it transforms into a Nekomata – but, like you said, he only has one tail, and he doesn't look entirely like a cat…" Wanda frowned slightly before continuing, Pietro was snickering, "and Grimalkin is a fairy cat in Scottish lore, and it's in a Shakespeare play- Macbeth."

"Tha' just might work…" Rogue mused, but before either of them could agree or ask the boy his opinion (if indeed Harry was meant to have an opinion) Pietro spoke up.

"Wouldn't work, like the Cat Sìth or Cat Sídhe, a Grimalkin is usually female – it'd be like calling him Pretera, which is wildcat in our Romanian, but sounds far too feminine in the 'States." Wanda flushed, for it was clear she had not thought of that angle. Harry looked grateful, Pietro only winked.

"Well if you're such an expert – what would you suggest?" Wanda snapped, and Pietro tapped his chin, and then frowned.

"Silver?" Pietro suggested though it had the tones of a question.

"Not happening Quick _silver_ , that's naming him after you, however it may fit him – it'd be like me suggesting 'Hex' or 'Wisher', or Rogue suggesting 'Marauder', or Gambit calling him 'Ace' …" Wanda pointed out to her brother, and Rogue smiled a bit at Pietro, who shrugged, a bit put-off that he'd been shot down so quickly.

"What about you – this is your name after all, any thoughts?" Rogue finally asked poking him with a gloved finger in the shoulder; Harry glanced to the twins then to her, and then looked upward, breathing in shakily to keep from laughing.

"When I was a boy, my cousin wanted to watch this show " _Alice in Wonderland_ ", I always remember it because he had a poster from school – and it was one of the few things my aunt and uncle forbid from him. I don't know what the movie was about – cartoons I think, but there was this purple cat, kind of stuck in my memory, 'cause he had this mad grin on his face, like he knew it all but wasn't going to tell anyone…" Harry's voice faded when he noticed the three were looking at him, Rogue with a kind of pity; though Wanda and Pietro had similar looks of sorrow that he didn't think were directed at him, more so then to their own past.

"Chesire Cat…it fits you." Pietro spoke, looking away for a moment to clear his throat.

"Yeah – it'll due for an every-day sort of name, but what about the mutant alias?" Rogue asked, glancing to the other two, they shrugged, clueless, though "Chesire" had a thoughtful look on his face.

Wanda didn't know it, but she had reminded Harry of his father and the Marauder's which was a piece of his past he wouldn't mind keeping with him in his new identity. They had been pranksters – loyal friends, but tricksters at heart. It was in that spirit that Harry wanted to remember them by, and as he couldn't just call himself Marauder – he'd call himself…

"Trickster…"


	4. Theory-Of-Magical-Mutants

"So, husband mine – what happens when the Council comes for my blood?" Hermione asked, not turning her eyes to meet his. He heard him shuffle a foot back and forth nervously, and could imagine him biting on his bottom lip.

"That won't happen," he said then sounding reassured in his logic, "Harry's already proved that Mudbloods and Half Bloods aren't the same as mutants." Ron assured her, out of the corner of her eye she saw him grinning, smug in his surety. Her nails dug into her palms.

"Harry is a mutant; the Council could have that dismissed in favor of that fact." Hermione had been a fool to trust him, but being in love had made her blind to his faults and fears. She could only hope that Harry was safe – and not where she thought he was, for she could only say nothing for so long before they had the reasonable doubt necessary to use the Truth potion.

"They wouldn't do that." Ron choked out, seemingly stunned dumb by the idea. Hermione closed her eyes and fought not to yell and scream in the face of his blindness. An owl flew through the window – its black feathers tinged Council green.

 _We shall see husband-mine, we shall see._ Hermione thought as she watched Ron reach for the owl's message, opening it, and paling a sickly white that made his freckles stand out starkly.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_"Sir,_

_It is with great regret we write to inform you of the new status of your spouse, she has been designated as a "Magical Mutant" (see secondary attached letter), Danger Classification as a Magical Beast XXXXX, due to the nature of her Blood-Status, that of a Muggle Born. This is to inform you that, in regards to her actions or inactions, you are directly accountable._

_Magical Community Council."_

Numbly, Ron let the letter settle on the tabletop between them, at a glance, Hermione read it. Her features registered no surprise – in fact it seemed that she had expected it. For a moment Hermione wondered if there was a chance for escape – if only Ron had not helped build the Council – if only he was not blinded by its faults. If only he was still the school boy she had loved.

"They…they've done it…what you said…" Ron seemed unable to wrap his mind around the fact. Hermione did not say anything, did not even move. She had warned him when she had given over the secret of Harry's nature – which he had not listened to in that critical moment spoke more then words could say of what he would do with any advice she gave now.

"What…what am I to do?" Ron asked her, though he had no right to ask anything of her. Hermione shook her head, pale faced, she had been a blind fool. A fool in love was still a fool, and she feared that even now – she was in love with Ron. But, still, if she was a fool in love, she was a clever fool.

"Let us see the secondary letter, perhaps there will be more of an explanation to why this is happening so quickly." That, at least, was something unusual, the Council's very nature kept it from moving to a hasty choice, yet, for all accounts this was such an action.

_"Magical Mutants - Classification as a Magical Beast XXXXX_

_Those with a Blood Status of Muggle Born and Half Blood, hold the classification as "Magical Beast" until proven or notified of otherwise. To prove this claim false one must submit to a "magical core" test. Those who pass the test will be given rights as Witch or Wizard, those who do not pass will have their wands snapped and all rights as Witch or Wizard revoked by the Magical Community Council. If no test is given, rights as Witch or Wizard will remain revoked and all assets, property, or children will be given over to spouse, or the closest magical relative. If neither option is available an approved guardian will be assigned to those classified as Magical Mutants. A letter will follow this to which will hold a date and place at which Magical Mutant must make an appearance, with their wand, to be tested, fail to do so will result in irreversible classification. Those who flee will be hunted down and sentenced to death._

_This letter is to make Ron Weasley, as a Pure Blood, aware that, as spouse of Hermione Weasley, Muggle Born, with temporary classification as Magical Mutant, he is named by Council her provider and by law holds all assets, property, or children of Hermione Weasley."_

They are afraid. Hermione thought as Ron finished reading the letter in a whispery tone. She saw it when he realized the result his actions had taken, his shoulders slumped and he all but fell into the second chair beside her own.

"They don't even say what sort of test it will be." Ron mumbled into his folded arms, already resigned to the fact that until proven otherwise, Hermione, in his eyes was indeed a "Magical Mutant" simply because she was Muggle Born. She glanced away before he could see the anger and disappointment in her eyes. He would not even fight for her.

Of course, she knew she wasn't a mutant – Harry had been the youngest between Ron and her self. She was nineteen, and even among muggle mutants (or so Harry had told her) it was rare to become one after they passed the critical teenager mark. Still, that just because she was muggle born was a cause to take away her rights as a witch – it rankled. The nerve – oh, there would be protests from muggle born and half blood alike but they were still considered second class citizens at best. Even after the war was won, and the Council members declared, that had not changed.

Just because there is a horrible man no one wants to stop because most of them aren't sure if he's wrong, and the others aren't thought powerful enough because of birth – and been told so since going to a magical school, she thought viciously for once in her life sympathizing with Voldemort – almost wishing he was alive, just because he died doesn't make enough of a point to change the way "Pure Bloods" were raised and groomed. She reminded herself that it was human nature at fault, and as a witch she could not hate others who held the same power she did.

That would be self destructive. That would be exactly what Voldemort did.

Harry, she realized then, was the target of the change. The victim – and all the rest cannon fonder, if there were "Magical Mutants" to be found – so much the better credit for the Council, if not no harm and no foul on their part – Muggle Born or Half Blood weren't considered true citizens. In fact, Harry was the only Half Blood who would be considered a true wizard – and he was the one they were hunting for.

There would be no chance for him to fight this – he was sentenced to death, for "fleeing". It didn't matter to the Council that he had fled before their declaration, and if they had their way, no one would know – no one the wiser when someone killed Harry. Oh, they'd make a proper fuss of it, of that Hermione had no doubt – but this way, as far as the Council was concerned – he would be a beloved martyr.

The question now, Hermione thought as she looked down at the two letters that had shattered her world while ironically proving the pen indeed mightier then the sword, is how to go about saving the savior.

Another owl, this one a more eerie black with its soft edged feathers tinged golden-green arrived on silent wings, merely waiting patient as death, for Ron to untie the massage from its leg. He set it down for her to see. In tidy letters it declared;

_"The classification of Muggle Born, Hermione Weasley as a Magical Mutant is irreversible after the first day of May._

_Henceforth Decreed by Magical Community Council"_

It would will be too late by then, Hermione thought with chilling logic that numbed her fear, by then…Harry will be dead. Hermione felt dread settle into the pit of her stomach because of the choice laid out before her – wait, and become a second class muggle born witch – or die because she fled. It was no choice at all. Hermione had already made Harry a run away – she would not sit idle while he was hunted down like a mad dog to be killed.

Hermione pressed her lips together and watched silently as the two owls – both black, flew away. She hoped it was not as ill of an omen as it seemed.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"When I was a boy, my cousin wanted to watch this show "Alice in Wonderland", I always remember it because he had a poster – and it was one of the few things my aunt and uncle forbid from him. I don't know what the movie was about – cartoon's I think, but there was this purple cat, kind of stuck in my memory, 'cause he had this mad grin on his face, like he knew it all but wasn't going to tell anyone…" Harry's voice faded when he noticed who the three were looking at him, Rogue with a kind of pity; though Wanda and Pietro had similar looks of sorrow that he didn't think were directed at him, more so then to their own past.

"Chesire Cat…it fits you." Pietro spoke, looking away for a moment to clear his throat.

"Yeah – it'll due for an every-day sort of name, but what about the mutant alias?" Rogue asked, glancing to the other two, they shrugged, clueless, though Harry had a thoughtful look on his face.

Wanda didn't know it, but she had reminded him of his father and the Marauder's which was a piece of his past he wouldn't mind keeping with him in his new identity. They had been pranksters – loyal friends, but tricksters at heart. It was in that spirit that he wanted to remember them by, and as he couldn't just call himself Marauder – he'd call himself…

"Trickster…"

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Ah think it suits ya. C'mon ya lot, almost time to eat." Rogue said then, shattering the drawn silence that had built around them. Harry stood, tail weaving back and forth. Wanda chuckled from behind him, Harry never saw the oddly gleeful look cross Pietro's features as he walked away tail swaying.

"Pervert." Wanda teased her brother fondly, soft toned – that, though, Harry did hear, and he did not need a mirror to tell him he was blushing. He decided, as Rogue looked at him from the corner of her eye, smirking, that white fur had its disadvantages.

When they reached what he could only assume was what passed for a kitchen he saw the odd boy he had bumped into earlier with a large young man who was bigger then his uncle had been. He hadn't thought such a thing possible, and he stared – but that could be excusable as he was being stared – gawked at, really – in return.

"Cat, this is Toad - or rather Mortimer and Blob," Pietro introduced the two with a nod to either of them, "also called Fred Dukes." Pietro finished as he sat, or rather sprawled, in the seat beside Remy, winking at him openly – most certainly flirting. How Remy felt about that, Harry couldn't tell besides Remy tolerating it.

"Everyone, this is Chesire Cat, to be called Trickster in battle." Wanda stated as she sat beside her brother. Rogue didn't look like she cared as she sat in one of the two seats offered in the middle of Lance and Pyro, only taking the one closer to Pyro. Which left one seat beside Lance, awkwardly, for Harry had been uncertain of his welcome – but having a seat, was, at least, a sign of acceptance – he sat none the less. He wondered if it meant anything, then dismissed the thought as red and purple sparks opened the fridge and three pizza boxes floated out with nothing to support them other then Wanda's sparks.

 _Like magic_ …Harry thought glancing down to his fur covered hands – they were slender to the point of skeletal though looked oddly elegant with the dusting of silver fur.

"Gambit got news from Mystique; she says tomorrow she and Magneto are paying us a visit." Remy's eyes lingered on Harry, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that they were coming to meet him. He would have to have been blind to not notice the way Lance and Pyro tensed and exchanged a glance. Harry wondered if it was because it was so unusual for them to take an interest – or if it was because of something else – something like Sabertooth…

"Best to lay low for the rest of the day; don't want to be getting in trouble again before Magneto and Mystique come by." Pietro commented airily, Remy only grunting in agreement as he ate a slice of pizza. Pietro swallowed when Remy licked some of the sauce from his bottom lip, he looked carefully away – and Harry saw Remy smirk slightly before returning to eating.

He wondered if there was something between them, but Rogue nudged him – turning wide eyes on her, she chuckled low and soft. Pyro glanced to her, then him - only to ignore them, or try his best to seem to pay no attention to them.

"Where do ya come from?" Rogue asked him, and it seemed to Harry their attention shifted to him, all of them waiting to hear his answer.

"Europe." Harry answered, glancing aside guiltily. It was the truth, though really only part of it. Harry had never liked keeping secrets – and this seemed a big one to keep from them. But, mutants or not – they were muggles, and it was law that muggles not know of magic.

"Really? Mortimer's from over there too." Wanda commented, nodding her head to the smaller boy. Mortimer had glanced up at him at his words, but was looking away when Wanda said as much.

Pyro had finished his slice of pizza but waited until Lance and Harry were done before moving to stand. A card flicked out, embedding itself where Pyro's hand had been only a moment ago. Pyro and Rogue looked to Remy, both tensed, while Lance narrowed his eyes pulling Harry behind him.

"Excuse yourselves; Gambit thinks you could use the manners." Gambit murmured whisper soft, Mortimer and Fred exchanged looks, while Pietro who sat closest to Remy only glanced between Lance and Remy. Harry swallowed thickly, throat dry he tilted his head in a quick nod.

"Please excuse us." Remy stared at Harry, and Harry wished he wouldn't, as if he sensed that (or perhaps it was his magic at work?) Remy turned his demon gaze away. As if it had never happened, Remy stood, coat whispering against the legs of his pants as he turned his back on them and left.

Harry was baffled at what had happened, as Rogue plucked the thrown playing card out of the wooden table. It left a grove in the wood. Harry wondered if the card was weighted – but it didn't look like it was – had Remy done something to make sure it stuck something only a mutant could do?

"He could have killed me." Pyro growled out the words to her, Rogue only looked to him blankly. She didn't look like she knew what to do with the card. Harry felt rather helpless himself, but when he moved forward, Lance kept him from moving, shaking his head in silent warning.

"But he didn't, actions speak louder then words." Wanda stated softly, eyes narrowed on Pyro as a challenge. He ignored her, and when she pressed her lips together, red sparks leapt from her finger tips – the lights flickered in response but that was ignored in the tenseness of the promised confrontation between Rogue and Pyro.

"He's not getting any better Rogue – that card proves it." Pyro hissed, ignoring Wanda as he glared down at Rogue and the card in her hand. Rogue closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath, when she opened them again she was glaring up at Pyro, somehow managing to be more intimating then the fire wielding teenager before her.

"Does it matter if he's getting better or worse?" She asked it very softly, and Pyro opened his mouth – then sighed and shook his head, seeming to feel guilty all the same for suggesting something Harry could not quite grasp.

Throughout the argument, Mortimer and Fred had remained silent, now Fred got slowly to his feet, walking away in the direction Remy had gone.

"Cowards…" Mortimer snarled in disgust, glaring at Rogue and Pyro, he merely got up and left moving in an odd hop-and-jump motion. There was a long silence, and Pietro let out a long hissing sigh.

"I'm going for a run." He told the room at large, thought no one responded until he was gone. Wanda came to stand beside Rogue, and led her away from the grove in the wood, though she clung to the card, something like fear and hope lingered in her, it twisted Harry's heart when he glimpsed her eyes.

Harry was left standing, baffled, behind Lance, both staring across at Pyro who even as they watched seemed to pick up the broken pieces of himself and walked away. Silently, Lance followed him – and Harry was left with little choice but to follow after.

 _What_ , Harry wondered as he glanced only once over his shoulder, _was that all about?_


	5. Mutants-By-Night

_Harry was left standing, baffled, behind Lance, both staring across at Pyro who even as they watched seemed to pick up the broken pieces of himself and walked away. Silently, Lance followed him – and Harry was left with little choice but to follow after._

What, _Harry wondered as he glanced only once over his shoulder_ , was that all about?

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"He…isn't usually like that." For a moment, Harry hadn't been sure if Lance had spoken, but when the taller boy glanced down at him to catch his reaction, it became fairly obvious that he had been talking to him. Which was something of a relief, he wasn't sure about the mental stability of _one_ of his roommates, and he surely didn't want to be the only one sane walking about.

"Remy?" Harry asked then, just to be sure they were talking about the same "he", but not quite wanting to meet their eyes. There was something frayed around the edges, as if they were weary and worn out, and they were far too young to know that ageless wariness.

 _Your one to judge_ , Harry thought to himself feeling that dulled edge – Hermione and Ron, after the war, had kept him from going about wishing for death, it didn't seem possible that there could be others who felt the way he did – yet, there were, and he was facing the facts – he wasn't alone. He didn't know how he should feel about that.

"Yeah, _right_ …as if he's usually so much more _reasonable_." Pyro bit out sarcastically, Lance sneered at the red haired youth, teeth gleaming in the evening light that lit the dim hallway of the old – should have been abandoned and knocked down - house.

"Give it a rest. You know better then I do what he used to be like. If I can see that he's improved – you've got to have as well." Lance spat out, their eyes caught and held – it was a moment, but it was all Harry needed to know that Pyro _had_ noticed the difference a getting "better" – whatever worse had been, Harry did not want to know - but it was there, out in the open.

Pyro was _afraid_ of that "for better" change. Harry did not know why – and he held his tongue to keep form asking. There could always be questions later, for now tempers were being tightly leashed. For all that Pyro seemed to hold his emotions on a short leash, Harry know – in a way he sensed, not through magic or mystic means – but through body language, that this show of fear sparked anger was fed by something worse, something that fueled every emotion Pyro couldn't help but show – what it was, Harry almost did not want to know.

Didn't want to know what could happen to a person to make them feel something so strongly – so inescapably – that in filled every moment of their lives, an emotion that fed them and fed off them – it reminded Harry of a parasite. Not one that was mutually beneficial – but something that burned you out and left you a husk, so much like the fire Pyro manipulated.

 _That's not exactly fair_ , Harry mused as he climbed the stairs behind the other two, _when a fire burns out, it gives things a chance to grow that might have had the life snuffed out of them_.

Nonetheless, it could not be coincidence that the mutation seemed to mimic the traits and characteristics of the person it sprung itself upon.

 _Something, at least_ , Harry thought as without a word Pyro went to the top of the bunk and sprawled out carelessly and Lance bounced as he plopped onto his bed, _to keep in mind._

Harry barely kept his amusement from showing – he sure knew how to choose his friends, as Hermione would often tease him. He'd stuck himself in as a roommate to a fire teaser and an earth shaker. He wondered which would overwhelm him first.

Be burned – or be buried. Harry fell into sleep then, he didn't think either choice worse then the other, and it – he knew – wasn't fair to either Pyro or Lance. Both of them had certain amount of mastery – or, at least, sheer stubborn control.

It was that control that Harry feared he lacked.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"What do you want, Pietro?" Red eyes glared into blue, and Pietro found himself swallowing, his throat gone dry. He had not known, exactly, what he was planning on doing having returned only three minutes after "the event" as he was coming to think of it. It wad one event in a loop of a seemingly endless chain of "events" but it was the first event that Harry, who Pietro found himself favoring despite himself, had witnessed.

"…Remy…" Pietro choked on the syllables that made up Gambit's name, simple enough to say, but to speak them with that red-on-black gaze settled upon you was something else entirely.

Gambit's lips curved with dark intent. The red eyes glimmered with mirth and a sudden inescapable "knowing" of the reason –which Pietro did not entirely want to admit to – for the visit.

Remy's fingers touched his jaw – danced along the smooth skin of his cheek. Pietro swallowed, unable to deny that he was bound to the other, sucked up by the under tow of darkness in him. Like a fly was drawn to the sliver strands of a spiders web in the dawns light.

"Gambit knows what you want." The rough whisper breathed over Pietro, shivering down his spine and teasing his desires. Remy leaned into his personal space – usually it was a joke that Quicksilver didn't have any personal space – but as Remy leaned his face close enough so that Pietro smelled the musk of his skin – the spice of his sweat – he knew he had personal space and it was all but being invaded by and surrendered up to Remy.

Remy's lips stretched into a mocking – though somehow seductive – smile.

Remy pressed his lips against Pietro's and a quivering breath escaped the slender silver haired youth as he gave in to the heat in his groin and the need that danced beneath his skin. He slumped up against the wall, held in place only by Remy.

Remy pulled away from him, and dazedly, Pietro wondered why.

"Go to bed, Pietro – Gambit don't want you tonight." The words were purposely cruel, meant to have the effect they hand. Remy watched as Pietro jerked, hurt, away from him. His lips trembled with unasked questions – questions which Remy was glad Pietro did not have the heart and strength to ask. Pietro sighed, and still hurt, gathered himself up and gave Remy a mockingly brave smile.

"That's fine, Remy – I'm sure I'll find someone else tonight." Only, they both knew Pietro wouldn't – Pietro, for some reason Remy could not determine, wanted him. It was a powerful feeling – addicting with the power it offered and teased him with. But Remy knew he was not ready – did not trust himself – with that much power over another person.

Most especially, not the much power over Pietro. Who cared about more then he wanted to admit to.

So it was with a heavy heart he watched the youth walk away, off to his room with his sister and Rogue. Then, more then ever, Remy regretted his inability to sort his own wants and desires from those around him. He clenched his teeth, deciding that a walk was, perhaps, not such a bad idea.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Flame flickered up from the lighter, though it would have affected the eyes of anyone else, the flame only had to catch on the edge of a cigar, lighting it up the a ember red glow that caught Remy's gaze and held it. He was helpless to it. With a sigh, he came forward from the shadows.

Steady as stone brown eyes flicked to him, glared him down with a measurement and weighing that Remy didn't want to know if he passed, or not. It wouldn't change who he was now – wouldn't stop him from being compared to who he had been in the past.

"Swamp rat." It's an acknowledgement, the cigar tipped-and-dipped up and down with the words. A smile formed around it, welcoming – but wary all the same. That watchful distrust he feared would never fade from a man he had gained the respect of, only to have it all go wrong too fast to change.

"Logan." Remy murmurs, smoke burning his eyes and making him blink. Or at least that's the excuse he gives for the sudden dampness in his eyes.

"Fairly far from your usual walking grounds." Logan comments, to distract them both, it's unreasonable to think that Logan can not – if not smell the dampness – see it. Remy is grateful all the same that he doesn't tease him about it – or let his appearance bring the silence and unease he has learned to loath.

"Gambit needed a…distraction." He can admit that to Logan, if to no one else, Logan understands that – unquestioningly.

"Storm's worried sick about you kids." Logan says, and Remy knows it's with those words that Logan admits his own worry for his "kids". Rogue may have been, originally, the only tie shared between them, but Remy learned quickly that the way things started out rarely meant they kept that way. Rogue had loved Pyro and Remy – as friends, then as something more that Remy on his best days kept himself from hating for what was lost.

It had been broken, and the breaking had been Remy's fault.

"Been fine, shouldn't let her worry so." Remy stated after a lingering silence. Logan would talk, and then, if Remy still felt restless – they would fight till Remy was too tired to think, it was the usual way between them.

Logan grunts at Remy's words, his gaze distant.

"How's Pyro?" It still stings sometimes, even Remy admits, to think of what he had almost done to his once lover. There was no excuse for nearly killing him – and what had set him off, Remy still didn't know – perhaps it had only been his own insanity finally it's talons in.

"Same." If his answer is a bit short, he knows Logan will understand. It was frustrating. There were good days – when Remy could pretend everything was normal and he and Pyro were, at least – friends. It was Pyro he missed the most. Rogue he loved, but he had distanced himself from her as soon as she had started crying in her sleep, and treated her at arms length when the trust in her was replaced with tired desperation to "fix" him. On bad days he wanted to kill Lance for being closer to Pyro then he could be.

"Can't blame him, swamp rat." Logan reminded him after exhaling the smoke that only took a moment for his lungs to heal up from the treatment.

Remy knew that – when Rogue had taken things in her own hands, had called up old ties to the Brotherhood to get Remy away from the feelings and thoughts of people who crowded around in the mansion, they had left Pyro behind. For months after, Remy learned later from Logan, Pyro was hostile to them, most especially to Bobby Drake who, bafflingly, had been his best friend since coming to the institute.

After nearly killing each other, Pyro had been asked to leave – he hadn't looked back when he left. It had surprised Rogue and him when Pyro had showed up at the Brotherhood house. Lance had not been a fool; he had welcomed Pyro with open arms, had comforted him – and replaced Rogue and Remy in his life. Or, at least, that was the way Remy saw it.

"Gambit knows it." He did too – the Brotherhood suited Pyro in a way that it didn't Rogue and he, it had not taken long for Pyro to make the most of his lot in life, becoming Lance's second in command. But, it had been Remy who was given missions – first with Juggernaut who had only needed to be shown Remy's power once before giving over to his judgment. Then, later with Sabertooth – who he had known how to deal with from Logan's accounts of him; never mind that he dealt with those missions the best he could – they had changed him.

Remy knew from Logan that, after that, Pyro and Rogue thought he didn't trust them. But it hadn't been that – he had only hated himself for what he had become. Had wanted to protect them from it, he knew now his mistake. He should have counted on their support, his withdraw had only drawn them away from him. They would stay by his side as best as they were able, but they would always have a certain amount of distance between them.

Or, at least, they would until Remy found away to build again the bridges he had so carelessly burned early on. At least enough to be friends, he knew it was likely he had lost Rogue forever. Logan had told him, eventually, what he hadn't seen before – that because of the stress of being the only tie between the Brotherhood and Wolverine (their only still savable link to the X-Men) and between Remy and Pyro – it had been Wanda, seeing that, who had saved her.

They had become friends – then, after, lovers. It was the last that Pyro still resented and felt was Remy's fault. It had been Pietro though, who had approached Remy – had shown him he was still human despite the strangeness of being telepathic and empathic – an almost overwhelming combination that Remy had almost lost himself to. But Remy was not fooling himself into thinking that Pietro only wanted him – he felt for Pyro the same way he felt fro Remy – and there was something about Lance that Remy could not see that tied the speedster to the Brotherhood leader.

It wasn't something he was proud of, but he had teased Pietro to him, just as attracted to the silver haired youth as he had been found "interesting".

"What about the new kids?" Logan fished, trying to find the reason for Remy's appearance. He didn't, Remy reminded himself, yet know about Harry.

"Fred and Mortimer do not yet understand – they still take Gambit's side." Truth was, Remy found that attention – that support – frightening as much as it was enlightening to know he was worth something, even to strangers.

The two were protective, seeing the general distress towards Gambit as, in part, directed at them. They did not know that the others worried for their physical safety. Did not know that by thinking Gambit a misfit with them they put themselves in danger from the very person they sought to protect.

Remy did not yet have the heart to tell them the truth about their "hero".

"Perhaps that's for the best." Logan agreed in the silence. For a while the older man studied him, knowing there was something else that lingered on Remy's mind but unwilling to push, Remy was grateful for the – at least verbal, privacy. But it had been the reason he had come to Logan on his "walk", so, without waiting for the silence to grow, he spoke in a rush, feeling a bit foolish like a schoolboy with his first crush.

"Perhaps, but now…now there is this _stray_ Pyro brought home to stay in his room…"


	6. Mutant-Mornings-Aren't-Magnetically-Pleasing

Harry woke to the sensation of his skin crawling. It might have been an ominous warning of things to come, though at the moment he thought the room was merely chilly. He stretched, cat-like, and peered into the darkness with ease.

Lance was snoring, but Harry had found that so long as he fell asleep first, that didn't bother him too much. Pyro seemed to be "dozing" more so then sleeping, for it seemed that if he stirred he would be wholly awake and ready for whatever had woken him.

It was then Harry realized he was thirsty- for milk, of all things. Ear flicking in annoyance at his own realization he climbed out of bed, padding his way past his roommates and down the hall. It would be, he knew, embarrassing if he woke one of them up just because he was thirsty. He knew then he would have to find the kitchen on his own. That was fine, he remembered it being downstairs.

He was grateful for his improved night vision, or, rather – vision period – for it allowed him to lessen his klutziness. It wouldn't due to wake the people who controlled where he slept and ate with a crash and a cat-like howl of pain.

With care, he managed his way downstairs, and got to the kitchen – where he then opened the fridge to find…no milk. He curled his lip in distaste, tail swishing back and forth with annoyance. Great, what was he going to do now? He knew it would be fruitless to try to get back to sleep without satisfying his craving. He was positive it had something to do with his appearance. It would have done no good to remind him of all those times he had gone snack hunting after dark.

With an expression he would never admit to being a "pout" he slumped down into one of the fold up chairs (with no cushions) and amused himself by flexing his sheathed claws in morbid fascination. It was likely the quieter cat equivalent of "farting" armpits.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Remy wasn't surprised the talk with Logan had lasted well into the night, about the time he started yawning midsentence, was about the time Logan had decided Remy could walk himself back to the Brotherhood house.

Always one unable to keep his fingers still – even while his feet walked, he played with a card – flipping it, flinging it like a boomerang and with his "charming" personality, he didn't have to worry about loosing the card. Not that _he_ would lose it, he could see perfectly well in the dark. It was proof, of a sort that his "demon eyes" were, after all, good for something.

Remy reached the entrance without delay, which, he had to admit – wasn't a surprise, the thugs that hung around after dark in these parts weren't fool enough to mess with a mutant, most especially not a mutant with his eyes.

It was a surprise though, that upon opening the door he was greeted with the sight of a moping cat-boy. His eyebrow rose of its own accord, and the boy had had plenty of time to sit up and take notice of his appearance.

"Remy wonders what you are doing up so late." He mused coming over and, when it didn't look as if his company would be taken amiss, sitting beside the other boy.

"I'm a mutant cat; I sleep eight hours in the _day_." The last was sarcastic, Remy knew – though not directed toward him but at the fact that the boy was a mutant, and was coming to realize that.

"That be fact then?" Remy murmured, amused despite his earlier words with Logan. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he seemed to decide to "come clean" about whatever wouldn't let him get to sleep.

"No, it's really just something stupid." The boy confessed softly, and Remy thought that among other things the other likely missed wherever he had called home. Remy knew better then to talk though, and keeping his words to himself paid off when the boy started speaking again.

"I want a glass of milk." The glint of fang, Remy supposed, was in part shown to be a warning. Remy paid it no heed as he chuckled, reminded all too strongly of a title of a book "if you give a mouse a cookie". He told Harry as much, and was oddly proud of himself when he caused the boy to laugh. Maybe, just maybe, things weren't as bad as he had told Logan.

"I have a fridge in my room; I likely have some milk up there." Remy was carefully avoiding thinking of a different sort of "cream", even as Harry grinned with something like delight. He would not think of letting the boy get drunk either. He had standards – morals, even when he felt his worst.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry woke tucked against Remy's shoulder, in the fog before waking he mused on how safe he felt. Still, he knew something had woken him, and when he heard someone step down one of the stairs leading to the basement where Remy roomed with Fred and Mortimer one the other side of the room sleeping on bunk beds. Oddly, Remy slept on the couch by his miniature fridge.

A minute longer was all it took for him to realize why someone stomping down the stairs had woken him – there was no one else in the house (other then, perhaps, Fred) who would step with such force of weight. Harry jerked free from Remy, which – of course woke Remy, who cursed upon hearing the final step that it took to reach the floor.

"What do we have here?" Purred a woman with dark blue skin and red hair – darker, Harry knew in a glance, then of the woman who had attempted to invade his mind. Her lips twisted into something like a smile, but reminded Harry of something less pleasant and more predatory.

"Mystique, what are you doing here…early." Remy added the last word, as if in after thought. Harry didn't think Remy had fooled her with covering his lapse. Her eyes trailed, unconsidered over manners, from the top to the bottom of Harry's features. Her gaze finally met his, and he noticed her eyes were eerie amber.

"I've come to see the new recruit, but I see you've developed a fondness for him – I'm sure Pietro will be pleased." Harry flushed, for there was no doubt she had made up her own conclusions to their relationship – or lack there of – and nothing either of them said would change her mind. They might, instead, in fact – cement her conclusions.

"It is no business of yours." Remy growled out the words, spitting them bit by bit. Harry had the uneasy feeling that these two had a history.

"On the contrary, it is." Mystique smirked, undaunted, and of course Fred and Mortimer woke.

"In case you are wondering – Magneto is here, and he requests," she paused her eyes skimming over theirs, making it clear that this was not a request no matter how she worded it, "that you all make an appearance in your…kitchen." She sneered at the word, as if she didn't think the place deserved the title.

"You might want to take the time given to you in-between to make yourselves _decent_." Her gaze lingered pointedly on Harry, who couldn't help himself when he flushed, looking away first. He didn't look up again until he knew she was gone.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Hermione had never been as venomous about her dislike of magical travel as Harry was famous for being, but she had always felt most comfortable with her feet firmly planted on the ground and no magical means of transportation within sight.

It had started with flying brooms, a thing Hermione was no good at and had no desire to be. Ron had never understood that, thought Harry had respected her enough not to question her choices.

So, when bright and early the morning following the worst sort of news she'd dealt with since having to face the fact that she and her best friends could die in a war that should have ended generations ago.

She felt it was quite understandable that she wanted to kill Ron for stuffing her into a "magical car" (which she could have forgiven him for if he hadn't called her "mulish") and having her endure hours of bumpy roads and quick turns that made her stomach want to flip out of her throat until nearly noon without so much as a word of explanation.

When they finally arrived at their destination, she was greeted to the sight of the curving iron gates of Hogwarts, which with a squeal of metal badly in need of oil – screeched open, while sending the hair at the back of her neck in tight curls.

It was with a stubborn set to her jaw and crossed arms that she was made to sit in the gardens of the courtyard, wondering what the hell Ron had been thinking to come here. In their school days, Dumbledore had been someone not even the Ministry would cross – but the Council was not the Ministry.

Their Council held power with every significant magical community crisscrossing the world's landmasses (and "cloud cities", and "underground metropolises", and even a few well known "sea worlds") so escape to another community would only result in being hauled back to the source of their troubles.

That was the thing though, the Council didn't have ties to non-magical communities, and though magical people and beings attempted to work closely with the non magical people, they were still considered outcasts and held at a distance out of wary regard, rather then, as the magical community likely thought, fear.

A spider caught her gaze, innocently making its way toward her. Only, if anyone could tell this wasn't an ordinary spider – it would be her, she knew its species, acromantula. The very same sort of magical spider that Ron and Harry had run across in their school days, slowly, Hermione smiled as she got an idea.

It crawled upon her hand and she slowly raised it to her face.

"I know what you are. I know you can understand me. Will you please…help me?" Hermione asked softly, knowing her life depended on its response did not make waiting any easier. Slowly the little head nodded. Hermione sealed her lips shut when dozens of little squirming spiders appeared, seemingly out of no where – all of them headed toward her.

"Hermione…!" Ron yelled from behind her, pale face making his freckles stand out bluntly. She remembered then that Ron had always been terrified of spiders, before he could think to stop her with magic she ran into the gardens that she knew led into the Forbidden Forest, hundreds – perhaps thousands – of little spiders scrambled franticly after her.


	7. Mutant-Kitties-Are-Not-Amused

Harry had learned very indeed that magic did not solve all the problems he might be faced with. In fact, more often then not – magic made things worse. Harry personally thought that magic was the result of an element of chaos gone astray. So it was that instead of arriving "presentable" – with clothes smooth as a pressed sheet and fur smoothed into something less ruffled, he went as was.

He admitted it was part rebellion, part because of Remy not having left his side since their rude awakening and he wasn't entirely sure direct magic (even his "wishes") would have the desired effect upon Remy forgetting the fact that he hadn't woken up "unruffled" – which was just plain too odd for anyone to believe.

He felt faintly like the guy who walked off the street into a fancy diner when, upon approaching the top of the stairs that led to the kitchen, he found the others gathered about the table in similar disarray, though they were likely, at least, familiar with the one who stood above them with a smug Mystique by his side.

 _This_ , Harry knew with no second-guesses whatsoever, _is Magneto_. He knew from Wanda and Pietro, who were trying to hide their surprised looks from finding him coming out of the basement - better then Lance, who looked carefully blank - or Pyro, who was still glaring at Remy who had already sat down beside Rogue and Pietro, but was otherwise ignoring him.

Rogue was carefully not looking at him, or merely concentrating on watching Mystique. Fred and Mortimer were coming up behind him, so he couldn't see their expressions, but he doubted they cared much about him appearing from the basement rather then having disappeared.

Magneto let them find their seats, though his expression was clearly somewhat displeased. Harry didn't particularly care if he didn't like stragglers, someone always had to be last – and Mystique likely came to get them last on purpose. Harry took the moments to settle into his seat beside Pietro and Wanda to study Magneto out of the corner of his eye.

His hair was silvery white, though still thick, he was clean shaven – though his dress was a little odd. He wore armor, not noticeable to someone who wasn't looking for it – but it was there under his button down black shirt. His pants were formal, no cresses, and no folds that weren't meant to be seen.

It looked like he came dressed to impress – and Harry had to admit, he was impressed. Once they were seated, and settled into place, there was silence – he didn't need to clear his throat, or glare them into silence. It was if it was expected of them, and they did not disappoint.

"Firstly, I welcome our newest family member - Chesire Cat," his lips quirked, not as if he found it a degrading name, but as if it was something he would remember, Harry wasn't sure he wanted his name remembered, "or, rather, as he will be better known as Trickster." This time there was nothing to read off his expression as he looked them over, measuring - weighing.

"I know your lives have been difficult – and you are young, born into these times of conflict that were started long before your birth. I want you to know you can always speak to Mystique, or I, of a conflict of interest, however that does not mean I wish to know every grudge and personal vendetta you have against one another. If you find there is something you can not work out among each other, speak of it – but be prepared to have their side heard as well." It wasn't a mistake that Magneto's eyes flicked to Lance and Pyro, then to Remy.

Harry looked aside, wondering why it was Magneto knew of this conflict, yet had not done anything to resolve it if he spoke the truth. Perhaps they themselves had not come forward to tell of the whole issue. Harry found it hard to dismiss – this was, after all, his "family" now, according to Magneto's own words.

"Now, Brotherhood, I bring to your attention the reason I have come to visit you so unexpectedly." Magneto glanced to Mystique then, a clear indication for her to continue. Obviously, she knew as much about the situation as Magneto did.

"As you know, our government has been capturing "troublesome" mutants – these unlucky individuals are being held in a base just outside our borders, on foreign soil there is no media to cover stories that might – or might not – involve these… _holding_ … faculties." Mystique spat that word out, sneering at the thought of such places. Harry thought it was very likely she had experience with such a place and the sort of people it might contain.

"So we have little choice but to act on their behalf – a team of two will distract the enemy, while two others will go in and get as many of our people out as we can." Mystique frowned then, pressing her lips as she looked over the gathered Brotherhood.

"Two of you will have to accompany myself, and Sabertooth, on this mission if it is to succeed." Mystique finished, some of the Brotherhood stirred, but no one spoke – glancing to Magneto to see if he had anything to add.

"You may discuss this among yourselves, their will be a training period to see how well the group works together – ultimately, the decision will be up to Sabertooth and Mystique, as I trust their judgments will be for the greater good." Magneto finished softly, as if daring anyone to contradict his words. No one did.

"When you finish eating breakfast, please present yourselves outside with the proper attire." Mystique added before turning to leave through the door. Magneto had not moved, but she didn't seem to be waiting for him.

"Chesire, I would like Mystique to speak with you personally after you have finished training with the others. She will collect you afterwards." It took Harry a moment he was being addressed. Magneto looked almost curious to hear his reaction, and though Harry had his suspicions, he was not about to show them to this man, so he nodded acknowledgement and – along side the rest – watched the two leave.

Breakfast was a remarkably withdrawn affaire, after Pyro and Wanda had finished cooking and there were two near misses of the house exploding - or combusting. Harry only managed to understand the difference in meaning that with exploding, there would be pieces, and with combusting they might survive, if Pyro directed it elsewhere on time. It wasn't very comforting, but he felt it was the fact that Sabertooth would be working with them that had everyone so silent.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry thought later that his assessment of Sabertooth being the one that stirred uneasy silence was incorrect. It was the "proper attire" Mystique had oh-so-casually mentioned on her way out that they were to wear. While discussing names with Wanda, Pietro, and Rogue – there had not been any mention of "proper attire", in fact he remembered a distinct _lack_ of it.

Lance looked like he wore something that combined a football uniform with an ice sport, shoulder protection – joints (elbows, wrist, and knee) as well as gloves and boots and the facemask, he could have passed for some sort of defense position – though, given his expression, he wasn't picky. At the joints it was a dark green, though the rest of the form fitting full body bit of "proper attire" was black. Somehow, Lance made it look at least decent. Not that Harry looked much at his ass, that wasn't it at all.

Pyro looked slightly happier, but then – that could have been the flamethrower strapped to his back. His padded protection looked minimal, but then Harry knew that really shouldn't be such a surprise – he had seen Pyro fight. Pyro could manipulate flame, not create it – that made him more use out at the sidelines of the melee then in the middle of it. The rest of his clothing was as skin tight and entirely covering as Lance's – in fact that seemed to be theme. Harry thought the camouflage material was likely flame resistant - it'd be stupid if it wasn't – especially with the gloves. He also had a face shield, and Harry had to wonder how it was that those seemed to have become standard.

Wanda still wore her crimson trench coat – her black fingerless gloves still firmly in place, though she wore a burgundy vest that showed her belly, and tight black pants that, when she shifted footing, he saw glimmer of carmine that reminded him eerily of dry blood. Her arms were crossed, and it didn't look like anyone would ask questions – if they were smart. Harry intended to stay on her good side, and it seemed most everyone agreed.

Pietro, truthfully, wore even more blue and silver then he had upon meeting Harry. The color seemed to suit him; the main body of the suit was silver though the edges were blue strikes, like lightning bolts. His was full body as well, all the way up to the neck cut in a 'V' and the white gloves and boots – of all of them he seemed the most pleased with his outfit.

Fred wore metal bands around his wrist and a grey vest over a white shirt that tucked into black combat pants and brown leather boots. Out of all of them, Harry didn't think he'd have to worry about overheating, then again – he didn't have much protection from whatever came at him. Then again, Harry had never seen his power at work, so maybe there was a reason for the lack of "protection".

Mortimer, crouched beside him on all fours, wore a white armor around his chest, though he like the others wore a full body covering suit with white gloves, green, Harry took quick notice, appeared when the black cloth stretched. It had to have been adapted to suit his ability, which depended on his agility. His black boots, too, seemed to have been made especially for him. Noticing his gaze, dark eyes glared up at him through fizzy curls until Harry looked to Rogue and Remy.

Rogue's shoulder guards slanted upward noticeably, a dark green which matched her upper body armor covering her chest, from there down it was black – which variation only at her knees which, while black, seemed to have a metallic glint to them. Rough work gloves covered her hands, as if the main concern was that they tare. Annoyed, she flicked white-on-auburn hair away from her face, glancing only once to Remy before nodding to Harry.

Remy's rugged brown trench coat covered most of his suit, leaving glimpses of a whole lot of black mixed with some red, the only difference seemed to be his white combat boots that reached his knees. There was something about his outfit that no one else had though, some sort of cloth came over his ears, opening only to let his face – and over a strap of black clothe – his brown hair free. The only benefit seemed to be that it brought his black and red eyes into intimidating reality.

This might have been the embarrassment holding them back from telling him about "proper attire". Harry vaguely remembered when going from wearing baggy clothes to robes had been awkward, but it had helped that the people he saw for most of the year wore the same thing he did.

It became then, natural, and he hadn't later thought twice about it, even though wearing baggy clothing beneath had become habit. Some clothing had been so baggy that the shirt dipped beneath the robe lining and people had thought he didn't ware shirts beneath – only baggy pants. He hadn't known until later that he had started that particular fashion – or lack there of.

This was clearly something a select few did. No one, in fact, was quite looking each other in the eye, and certainly not at their "proper attire", Harry though, was fascinated. He also wasn't going to be wearing anything like it – he was claiming "fur discomfort" to any contact with close fitting clothing. He could see how it would be useful, armor-like, something you could move in without bits of it getting caught in wiring or some such – that didn't mean he was going to wear something like it.

Mystique cleared her throat, bringing Harry's attention to her own get up, in the dark of the basement his attention had been on her eyes and the odd color of her skin – upstairs, it had been on Magneto. She wore a dark blue (darker then her skin at least) body suit beneath a heavy white tunic (perhaps leather) that fell to her ankles. White boots and gloves completed the assemble – with the added bonus off four very realistic looking sculls that looped around her white tunic. It was distracting (in the sense that those skulls reminded him of Voldemort) and it took him a moment that she was indicating they get into the black van at the side of the road beside the drive way. They did so, obedient as ducklings lining up in a row after her.

He had a moment to realize how humorous this might look to a passerby before he got into the van, his last thought being just where it was Magneto and Mystique planned to train them at.


	8. Beware -Mutants-With-Military-Background

Looking ridiculous or not, there was nothing really "funny looking" about being dropped off in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. A ridge of rolling hills surrounded them, boxed them into a "valley", it was sparsely forested. Enough so to give Harry the feeling that although they hadn't driven more then a day out, they would be well and truly lost if they tried to leave without knowing where they were and where, exactly, the closest town was.

Stepping out of the van resulted in the usual grumblings and exaggerated stretches, and then they seemed to take notice of where they were. Or rather, where they realized they weren't. A river flowed out of the forest and past the camp (really, it was rather like a group of clumped buildings) until it was out of sight.

Pressing her lips together, Rogue turned to Mystique, narrowing her eyes in distinctive anger. Rogue apparently didn't like surprises that landed her in the middle of no where. Then again, no one else looked very pleased with the turn of events either.

"What happened to 'Camp Cry'?" Lance demanded of the two, eyes glancing over everything in sight, apparently not recognizing anything. In a way Harry found himself glad to know he wasn't the only one who wanted to know where they were. In a different way, he was worried, because plans had changed from what the Brotherhood knew from before.

"As if you don't remember, you and Pyro made certain we couldn't use it again." Mystique hissed, arms folded, Harry was inspired to imagine cracked ground and burnt earth. This place looked peaceful, as if it hadn't been touched by such things.

"Huh, that never stopped you from rebuilding it before." Pyro murmured with rolled eyes, though he looked about more curious then alarmed. There were two docks beside the river, but Harry couldn't see any boats and felt a little reassured – they _could_ be tucked away out of sight – but it seemed a waste of effort if they were to dig it out. Or something they could excuse as a "building character" exercise, though that thought wasn't nearly as reassuring.

"It proved more profitable to move to a different facility in the long run." Magneto interrupted before either could continue their glaring contest, or turn it into something else.

"So, what are you calling this one?" Wanda asked after a few moments of slightly uncomfortable silence. Magneto, for one, looked happy to answer. Or to just have one of his children speak with him, Harry wasn't sure which.

"Well, that's up to the Brotherhood, I want you to have a name by the end of the training you will receive here." Magneto stated, seemingly pleased with his sentiment. Pietro didn't seem at all impressed with the idea, and, as he had – instead of looking around – 'zipped' around in a blur of silver and blue. Harry wondered what, exactly, he had found out, because when he appeared he looked a mix of pleased and worried.

It was then that Fred's stomach growled. Not rumbled, not "gurgled", _growled_. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and was well past noon. Pietro chuckled, patting the large boy (he was built bigger then Dudley, and though Harry hadn't know that could be possible he carried it all in such a way it was intimidating) on the shoulder, though he had a pinched look around his eyes that showed that although he was amused at the others expense, he was also likely hungry as well. Harry remembered what he had been told of the others advanced metabolism.

"After you've had lunch, we'll go over the schedule for the rest of your time here." Magneto suggested, though a surprisingly kind offer, it seemed to embarrass Fred. Mystique didn't give them time to second guess Magneto's words as she pivoted and headed toward the largest of the cabins that were clustered around in the camp.

They passed the first cabin which seemed to be an office, or likely for the two adults to share, two fire pits behind it, obviously meant for the two "homely" looking cabins that lay on either side of the one they followed Mystique towards. Harry was guessing this was the kitchen, and the other two on either side would likely be the boy and girl cabins respectively. Interestingly, there were no outside lavatories.

 _Here's hoping for indoor plumbing_. Harry thought as he stepped though the entrance to the "cafe" (as it was scratched into the top of the door frame – likely short for cafeteria), to one side was all but walled off; save for a door, where he supposed someone went back and forth to collect their food, because, the paper plates and healthy mid-day meal were already laid out on the two tables that stretched just about from end to end of the cafeteria. Oddly, on the other side was what looked like a platform, likely there so the person standing on it could be seen and, likely, heard by everyone, in fact – as if to test that theory – a man stood leaning against the wall, watching them.

Remy, Harry noticed, had tensed up and had sat so he faced this man. Likely, they knew each other (or Remy didn't like strangers) though they didn't look to like each other. Oddly, Lance, and Pyro, who usually seemed to make a attempt at liking those Remy disliked – if how they had reacted to Harry were any sort of indication – were also wary, hardly touching their food least they take their eyes off the man before them.

Wanda made a show of hovering over Pietro, who had taken on a sickly pale look. It worried Harry, though Wanda seemed to have things well in hand though she glared at the stranger without reserve. Rogue, most surprisingly, had made a show of slipping her glove off, glowering at the stranger. Harry couldn't help the little hysterical voice in his head that muttered something like " _and now the gloves come off_ ".

He bit his lip to keep his expression from changing. There was nothing truly amusing about what he was seeing, the Brotherhood took this man – and the threat he represented – very seriously. Of them, only the younger and newer mutants, Mortimer and Fred, seemed not to know who they faced though they took their stance from Remy, and simply watched the stranger with wary eyes.

"I see some of you remember me," it was a rough voice, nearly pitched at a growl, that Harry heard then, "some of you are not so… _lucky_." There was irony there, and sarcasm, though yellow cat amber eyes peered at them when the man tilted his face toward them to see them. Harry thought he understood then, why his voice seemed to have a bite to it; not very human sharp teeth were glimpsed when he moved his lips. Harry was reminded of the night that Remus had changed while he had still been in Hogwarts, of seeing the shadows of a black dog fight for him and the others with a wolf that had been his teacher and friend. Remus could not help what he was, this man, Harry got the feeling, was just as dangerous but did not care to be human.

"I am, so the three who do not know me are informed, Sabertooth. Magneto has _asked_ me to help prepare you…" He stepped further into the light, at the very edge of the stadium. No one was eating. Harry felt his magic pull at defenses that had been dormant since the war.

Sabertooth had wildly blond hair, and it fell past his shoulders, which were solid and bowed with muscles, his arms were crossed, and though he did not quite manage it over his barrel sized chest it was still intimidating as hell. The rest of him was compact, but somehow he seemed taller then his physical presence suggested. His dress didn't relieve any fears, about his shoulders was a fur – skinned by hand – that looked like a large cats. He wore a white shirt and black pants, somehow it was uniform, and he just carried that sort of mercenary professionalism naturally, though it was an undercurrent to the feeling of his threatening presence, it somehow fit. He made it fit.

"I have every intention of doing just as the boss asks, whether you like it…or not." He was smug at this, sure of his control – daring them to defy him. He looked as if he would like that sort of challenge.

The lights flickered - exploded.

Harry did not like to be threatened. Although he made an effort to seem as confused as everyone else, while with some relief Pyro flicked on his lighter and helped Lance herd them out of the 'café', and away from Sabertooth, Harry knew that he had lost control – no one had been hurt – though the possibility of the danger he could pose lingered.

Somehow, he got the feeling that Sabertooth _knew_ what he had done, however accidently, even as the amber eyed man followed their – _his_ \- movements out of the "café".

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Damn, that was freaky…" Mortimer stated, seeming to shiver thought it was not very cold outside of the "café"; there were murmurs of quiet of agreement, though Harry only shrugged uneasily. It had been his doing, after all.

"Think Sabertooth did it on purpose?" Pietro wondered thoughtfully, leaning against the wooden walls. Though they had left, they didn't seem to know where to go. Remy regarded him long enough to make anyone nervous before shaking his head thoughtfully.

"Non, he was just as surprised as we – if not more so." Remy said this softly, as if it was something he considered important. Harry sighed slightly as he looked over to the hills sparse of greenery; it did nothing to relieve his feelings of unease.

"Heh, well at least the light fixtures are on our side." Lance joked; Rogue promptly rolled her eyes at his playfulness. There were times they were grateful for the fact that Lance took things as they came. It was what made him a good leader. Every now and again his insistence to find _something_ funny with every situation was a more annoying trait. Though Mortimer laughed weakly and Fred cracked a smile.

"Got a name for this place already, how about " _Up Yours_ "…?" Pyro suggested, nudging Lance meaningfully; both broke down to snickers and muffled chuckles. It got Pietro to smile, though just a little, which Harry thought might have been the point. Wanda at least looked grateful for their interference.

" _Funny_." A voice snarled that made everyone turn to regard Sabertooth, who was _smiling_ all very sharp teeth and glaring amber eyes. His expression was anything but amused. Pyro swallowed, and then something like a foolish bravery made him grin, just as unfriendly.

"I thought so." Pyro spoke out. Sabertooth curled his lip, glaring at the red head before regarding the rest of them.

"We are not here to _play_ , children." Sabertooth told them very softly, Harry got the feeling that this was because he was trying to restrain his anger. Apparently killing them outright was not aloud by Magneto.

"Magneto suggested letting you rest for the rest of today and run the obstacle course tomorrow. I say you can do it twice in less then twelve hours. I expect the first time will be your worst….you will do this, without powers." Sabertooth looked significantly to Pietro. Harry narrowed his eyes; there was something of a history between those two – more so then the rest of the Brotherhood – though there was a clear line between Sabertooth and the rest.

It was something Magneto and Mystique likely thought natural, maybe encouraged, a rivalry of some sort. Between the Brotherhood, and whatever Sabertooth represented to them. Harry intended to find that out, after – obviously - the obstacle course.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Sabertooth seemed to delight in their expressions of mixed fear and disbelief. The "obstacle course" was a jumble of metal bits – hanging bars, "slides", and pits of _something_ held in tin – climbing walls.

There were also blocks of metal that moved in more ways then side to side and up and down (though Harry didn't know if he should be glad or worried to see the bits of metal which might have been meant for them to hang onto if they fell or were meant to teach them a lesson as they fell) there was also something like a "block" staircase, though it moved up like a elevator, there were no sides and Harry knew that was a trick of balance all on its own.

"Magneto was delighted to set up this little jungle gym for you. Hop to it, children, Chesire," Sabertooth sneered slightly at Harry as he spoke, "Fred, and Mortimer you're a team; Lance, Remy, and Wanda next up, with Quicksilver, Pyro, and Rogue following it up last." Cat-like reflexes or not, this, Harry knew, was going to be a challenge.

The pit of mud at the bottom of the floating "playground" only served to remind them of where they ranked in the score of things.


	9. By-The-Grace-Of-Magic

" _I know what you are. I know you can understand me. Will you please…help me?" Hermione asked softly, knowing her life depended on its response did not make waiting any easier. Slowly the little head nodded. Hermione sealed her lips shut when dozens of little squirming spiders appeared, seemingly out of no where – all of them headed toward her._

" _Hermione…!" Ron yelled from behind her, pale face making his freckles stand out bluntly. She remembered then that Ron had always been terrified of spiders, before he could think to stop her with magic she ran into the gardens that she knew led into the Forbidden Forest, hundreds – perhaps thousands – of little spiders scrambled franticly after her._

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Sunlight filtered through the treetops, by some work of nature or a cruel divinity it streaked brilliantly across her cheeks and eyes. She knew better then to flick her eyes open and blind herself, even in her unconscious mind. With her lashes lowered – barely squinting to see past the golden light, all the same she felt a headache throb behind her temples. Tension, she told herself firmly even as she sat up, feeling faintly nauseous.

The spiders had gone, and she found herself somewhat relieved. She hadn't wanted them around her once they had led her into the shelter of the Forbidden Forest and shown her to a large tree that offered low slung branches which she could climb up and – with luck – avoid most of the night critters that made themselves scarce at daybreak.

Hermione could not help the odd feeling that she had been led to this particular place for a reason all the spiders own. She didn't like that thought, while the small ones would not have reason to harm her, a larger one would have every reason to do so as food was scare, even in the Forbidden Forest for such large creatures the spiders could grow to be.

She remembered vividly the stories Ron and Harry had told of their encounter, and it had been enough that Hermione was glad she hadn't been with them. Until now – those tales firmly in mind – she had made a point of avoiding this place because of the danger, and childishly – the rule breaking.

Carefully - for she had no where safe to go - and rushing out of a tree was a simple way to do harm to herself, she let her hands and feet remember the way down, her mind scrambling to think of a way to do what she needed done. Hermione had known very well what she had intended to do when she had asked aide of the little spiders. She needed to escape and to warn Harry of his danger – of the chaos the world they had loved and saved had become – and hopefully he could do something to make it less frightening.

She admitted within her own mind that this seemed a silly thing to think, but Harry had always been there for her when they were growing up, he had always been what she thought of as an ideal big brother. He kept himself withdrawn more then she liked, and he more often went along with what was going on until he decided to act.

When he acted, things happened, it was never something small that Harry changed or did when he put his mind to it. Sometimes she worried that he didn't use his magic as much as he should because of this. It struck her then that she was worrying about _him_ while strolling about in the Forbidden Forest – if he only knew! – indeed, if he did know such a thing he'd wouldn't think twice – vow or no vow to the Ministry and its Council – he'd rush headlong into the forest to see her safe again.

Hermione chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she heard a stream of rushing water and headed in that direction. Some cool water might ease her aching head and settle her belly. She found herself crouching at the rivers edge; she took a sip, because of her magical nature she didn't fret too much of what was in the water. She'd asked a Healer once why it was that wizards and witches didn't get sick as often as she had seen a normal person do so.

The only explanation was that magic kept them well enough, either getting rid of what threatened to sicken them, or changing it into something they needed to use. She reflected as she took a sip of water that magic was like a useful parasite, it kept the wizard or witch in relative good health and their body was naturally and strangely stranger then most could manage to be, all of which was in their favor.

What wasn't was that most had to use magic every day – or more – to keep from having things happen with magic that a witch or wizard hadn't meant to happen. Magic could also change features or body structure if not used often enough, it wasn't something too noticeable – perhaps teeth were a bit larger, or nails harder to clip and faster growing, body hair could be expected, though less or more, or how fast or thick depended on the person – as could, she knew – fat, or rather lack of it.

There was a reason powerfully strong witch or wizard weren't often on the large side, magic seemed to take the nutrients off the very food they ate. Though that was rare, it was also a very real threat to the person if they weren't careful about it. It was easier to die with powerful magic taking what you needed to live then with a little magic that finicky needed use more or less from day to day. Most had power that was between that, so it wasn't so very large a threat to them, but when they were as few as there was, every bit of knowledge helped.

It was why the Council was such a threat to the people, with their demands to bring in Half Bloods and the Muggle Born; it would not take much to stir a panic and then lose more then half of their precious population, if not more.

"You have strayed into our forests, you are not welcome here." Hermione jerked out of her thoughts, was startled and found herself – though she was not quite sure how it had happened – on her bottom, nicely velvet purple robes with silver trimmings sprawled in disorder about her. She did not want to think of the feel of grim upon her skin or how her hair must look. There was something very dignified and aloof about a centaur that gave most a feeling of lesser worth. It was something Hermione suspected they did on purpose.

"I am sorry…I was held against my will, without freedoms. A fact that most who are not pure blooded in magic are faced with, I fear." There was a bitter sharpness to her tone that surprised her, and she had clearly startled the centaur that blinked at her as if perplexed by her words and at a loss to what to do with her.

It was then Hermione finally took the time to really look at the centaur, she saw then that he was younger then she had thought, certainly not even having reached being half grown. His hair was cut short, though it could have been his preference it looked to have been something put upon him rather then his own choice, most centaurs she had seen heard of wore their hair long.

He still had baby fat in his face, giving his face a smoothed look, his torso while muscled and in good shape and slender showed also that he had not lost the fat that smoothed the skin between muscles. Then there was the shiny look to his hide, it didn't look as if he was about in the sun or weather overmuch. The last bit of proof was the knees of his forelegs; they were knobby and not quite grown into.

A burst of motherly sympathy filled her, and she smiled at him sympathetically, bashfully she saw him smile back a bit timid.

"I'm Hermione; do you know where I could speak to the leader of your people?" She asked voice softer now; he nodded quickly, and took a horn from the bit of leather looped around his waist alike a belt. He blew two long bursts on it and a final third shorter then he rest.

"I'm Rilliaun." He announced proudly, she smiled once more, and they waited, though not long. Hermione had just enough time to set herself to rights once more, standing up and bushing bits the of undergrowth off herself.

Rilliaun had a chance to ask her childishly curious questions…

"Were you born with all that on?"

"No, my people like to dress like this, though I suppose it looks a bit odd."

"Just a bit. Your nice though, do you sing or play music?"

"No, I'm not very good at it I'm afraid, though there are others who are very good indeed."

"Really? None at all? I play the flute and horn, Father says I should make an effort to learn all of them that I can, but there are so many! What is your favorite instrument?"

"I favor the piano, it can be very beautiful or haunting when it is played properly."

"I've not heard of that one, what does it look like?"

"Well, it's a bit odd to explain unless you've seen one. You sit before it, and it is large enough so that you need both hands to play, your fingers hit the keys and that is how you learn by ear, I'd guess."

"It sounds very strange, but I will learn it so you can come back and hear me play!"

"I would like that very much, Rilliaun…"

She could not help but be amused by him, rather then insulted, as others who thought more of themselves then they should. It was after that that she saw three grown centaurs appear silently slip form the surrounding forest like shadows, and it became clear to her that they weren't at all pleased to see her.

"What are you doing here?" One of them, fair haired and dark eyed, demanded of her, Rilliaun bristled visibly upset, which seemed to startle some manners into them if only for his sake. At least it was true that they cared deeply for their young and would let them have their way if it could be so.

"I came to ask a favor of you, if you were to tell me the name of a youth, he would be of my kind with dark hair, vivid green, with a scar of lighting on his brow." It was a challenge, Hermione knew they had knew of Harry when they showed surprised and their demeanor shifted to something a bit friendlier, though they kept their air of aloofness.

"He would be called The-Boy-Who-Lived among your kind, though truly named Harry; among us he is kin-brother called Mars for trouble seemed to follow him in life from what we read in the stars. Did he send you to us with a message?" This one, with hair as dark as Hermione's own, looked eager at the chance for such a word, she was almost sorry to disappoint him.

"No, I'm afraid I have not seen him for a while, he was self exiled, though if he knew how things had fallen he might have changed his mind. I need to speak with those who taught him the Arts of Conflict; I do not know how to find them – merely that he told me you do, and if there was a need to seek you and yours, as you would know." Hermione told them, and thought for a moment that they did not believe her, but they looked among each other and the dark haired one nodded his acceptance of her words as he spoke

" _You_ seek the Winged Ones and the Riddlers? Mars must be needed greatly for you to dare such a thing. Come with us to our people, you can give us your news once and we will send for them afterwards." Hermione felt relief flood her, as she followed them it seemed to her that she was weightless – they would help her – though they slowed to accommodate her two feet with their four, she found later that they had made good time.

Then it had not mattered; only that her call for the 'Winged Ones' and the 'Riddlers' (though of course she had been taught they had another name, though they called themselves even a different one from those she and the centaurs knew) had did not go unanswered, like it or not, she knew Harry needed to be found. She was not to be disappointed, for before the week was gone – both of the asked of beings arrived, and Hermione had never stood so still and speechless before in her life to see the likes of them. Luckily, they had been amused by her had had not taken offence. Once they heard her out, they readily agreed to move swiftly to find Harry. Now she had only to wait.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Sabertooth seemed to delight in their expressions of mixed fear and disbelief. The "obstacle course" was a jumble of metal bits – hanging bars, "slides", and pits of _something_ held in tin – climbing walls.

There were also blocks of metal that moved in more ways then side to side and up and down (though Harry didn't know if he should be glad or worried to see the bits of metal which might have been meant for them to hang onto if they fell or were meant to teach them a lesson as they fell) there was also something like a "block" staircase, though it moved up like a elevator, there were no sides and Harry knew that was a trick of balance all on its own.

"Magneto was delighted to set up this little jungle gym for you. Hop to it, children, Chesire," Sabertooth sneered slightly at Harry as he spoke, "Fred, and Mortimer you're a team; Lance, Remy, and Wanda next up, with Quicksilver, Pyro, and Rogue following it up last." Cat-like reflexes or not, this, Harry knew, was going to be a challenge.

The pit of mud at the bottom of the floating "playground" only served to remind them of where they ranked in the score of things.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Feeling the press of eyes upon him, Harry stepped forward to the rising metal stair. He knew Sabertooth was being wholly unfair to put all the "newbie" together like this. Maybe somewhere they would have called it "measuring up standards" or "assessing skill", but he knew Sabertooth did it simply to be mean spirited.

Left with so little choice, after looking unsurely between each other and to the others, Fred and then Mortimer clambered up behind him, perhaps by design there were three such metal stairs. No matter how thin, they held Fred securely (this reassured him somewhat to the stability of the metal put into flight before them), though the large boy looked very unsure of how to go about continuing. Harry realized as the two looked to him, that he would have to step in as leader or it was with no doubt he thought they'd have the worst time of the groups Sabertooth had set up.

"We'll have to work together." Harry warned them, knowing that until this moment they hadn't really had a chance to work together or seemed to like each other very much. They didn't look between each other, but it was somewhat amusing that they seemed to nod in time to one another.

"Get a move on!" Sabertooth growled at them from bellow, looking down at him from above, even Mortimer seemed eager too let go of his former grudge.

"What do we do?" Fred hissed, eyeing the next "step" it was moving side to side in a way that – if they judged wrong or with a misstep – would ensure they stepped into the mud at the first thing that challenged them. Harry felt a fierce anger at this – he wouldn't let that happen.

"It'll only fit Fred and I at the same time, you'll need to get up," before Harry had finished his thought, Mortimer had perched himself on one of Fred's shoulders, he was smirking, "then at the count of three we move." Harry finished, as if he had meant for Mortimer to do what he had.

Harry watched the "step" appear, and without warning snarled out " _three"_ , Fred moved easily forward, not hesitating as he trusted Harry to lead them. Harry felt a thrill of power, as if in battle where his magic had offered itself up like a bubbling spring and tensed, imagining plugging a sink to stop the feeling of magic ready to be used tightening his skin.

"Three." Harry said again when one of the "blocks" came within stepping distance. It had been moving smoothly upward, so Harry was unprepared for it rolling under their weight, Harry – as the lightest – would have fallen into the mud pit if he had not clung tightly to one of the metal "spikes" that jutted out. Mentally he was glad for them, and marked every one of the "spiked tumblers" as something to be wary of moving beneath his feet unexpectedly.

"Cat, are you alright? We're almost to the top." Mortimer asked nervously of him, perhaps worried he had fallen, though they would have heard it if it had been true. Harry took a breath, finding it harder while holding to the spikes, perhaps it was the oncoming adrenalin, or he really was out of shape since the war. Harry didn't like that and didn't dwell on what his trainers would have said about such.

"Yeah, fine. Once you get to the top, move, I'll be right behind you." Harry told them, trying for reassuring. He felt it when their weight lifted off the block and he lurched forward, unsteadily he felt the "spiked tumbler" roll with his weight – he could have slipped and fallen, if not for Mortimer.

"I got you, Cat!" The younger boy had called out before acting. It proved to be Harry's only warning. With as soft slithery sound Mortimer had opened his mouth, tongue darting out to wrap about Harry's wrist, Harry fought his surprise and jumped before the spiked tumbling cube could leave the edge.

"Thanks." Harry had time to say before he saw Sabertooth smirk and knew something nasty was just waiting to surprise them. He looked for what it could be and saw the spiked tumbling cube "jumping" trembling at the edge of the ledge that led to a claiming wall. It was as if the cube was trying to come after them…Harry remembered with sudden clarity the sharpness of the spikes along the cube and how easily it could have hurt him if he had not grabbed hold.

"Oh, shit – move, _climb_ , now, now, _now_!" Harry shrieked, practically mewling at them, he had been right to rush them, though it seemed to take forever for Fred to climb up, always taking one careful but sure bit of holding before moving onward, it was at least a pace Harry could work with. Harry refused to leave Fred behind, and Mortimer seemed to feel the same way as he could have taken the quick way and leapt to the top – but he hadn't. It said a lot about a person that Harry thought he seriously misjudged based on a first impression.

Harry didn't dare look to see how close the spiked tumbler cube was, he heard it, those horrible metal spikes driving into and scratching at the metal climbing wall – he held his breath and let it out shakily. It was a very good thing the wall was short, they were only a bit farther from the top then Harry would have liked despite Fred's pace.

"Cat…" Mortimer was pasty and his voice very weak, though Harry was glad to see some green about the edges. ' _He's looked, he knows, it has to have crept up to us close to have him this worried_ '. Harry thought, swallowing but he did not turn to look – Mortimer was moving quicker then before – though still with the group – he was at the fringes clearly close giving in to his fear and bolting for the top.

"Go on without me guys – I'll be fine." Fred sounded quite confident in this, Harry realized then that he had no idea what Fred's ability was. His answer and Mortimer's was the same though.

"No way man, it's the notion of the thing, 'sides, when the thing catches up you can cover us and we'll all be fine." Mortimer reassured, brave for a guy who was trembling as he climbed, shaken by how close the cube was obviously getting. Fred only barked out a laugh while continuing onward steady and sure, clearly intending to get to the top cube-of-death-by-spikes or no cube-of-death-by-spikes.

They were very lucky so far that the cube was so slow, though Harry felt this was somehow done more to terrify them then to mean them any real threat they couldn't get out of the way of. It was bad enough climbing without safely of any kind save hand and foot holds, and then to know that they had something metal not terribly upset with the idea of shredding them to bits was by far worse.

When they reached the top, Harry was content to see something easy – a slide, that it led to a murky mud bit held in a tin pool was a mere annoyance. This time neither of his teammates needed his encouragement to go forward. Harry wondered how much time had passed, and then let it slip from his mind as he slid down after his team. They'd take as long as they needed to, they were doing this for the first time and it was unfair that Sabertooth had bullied them into doing it after their long ride to the camp.

It turned out that there were traps in the mud – luckily, Fred was the first to trigger one. A nasty looking metal spear flung itself from the tin wall and Harry half expected it to gut Fred then and there, but no – what he saw next was incredible. Amazing. The spear clanked when it hit him, an ugly noise as it dented, and seemed to rip itself in two from the force of finding a solider mass then itself. It was as if it had hit a wall rather then flesh. Harry knew he was gawking, and Mortimer was smirking, while Fred started to belly laugh at the cat-boys expression of surprise.

"So that's what you can do!" Harry explained, pleased that it had finally been shown to him. He felt a bit of fear and sympathy for the magical world, they had been right to worry – he shoved it aside – and merely smiled, for Fred seemed so proud of himself. He had a right to be, not even magic could have saved him it had happened so quickly.

"Yap, that's what I can do." Fred echoed, still seeming amused with Harry's reaction. It was then Harry had a thought, and though it was a horrible one it might save them some of the danger this mud-trap presented. Harry was learning swiftly that nothing in this floating metal jungle gym was what it appeared. The slid, he thought as he snuck a look back at it, had been used to set them at ease.

"I had to sound sacrificial, but – uh – would you…" Harry started to say, and then paused feeling acutely the grime of dirt on his fur, which wasn't at all far away from feeling as he did as slim for asking what he almost had.

"Go first?" Despite – or because of Harry's pause – Fred had finished his words for him. There was an expression Harry hadn't seen on his face before, one of almost a fierce joy. It took a moment for it to sink into Harry's skull that Fred looked as if he _wanted_ to do this.

"Yeah…" Harry murmured, glancing to Mortimer who seemed to be happy for his friend. They didn't seem to be disturbed Harry had asked for something akin to cannon fonder.

' _It's the one thing Fred been led to think he can do well_.' Harry thought, feeling sick at heart that the larger boy could think such a thing of himself, however much his next words proved the thought true.

"I'd be honored." Fred was smiling, though it wasn't a joke to him. Harry kept his face carefully blank as he gestured for Fred to move on head, Mortimer moving carefully behind him letting Harry come up last.

The rest passed in a blur for Harry, having gained some confidence Mortimer and Fred easily took to the next tumbling spiked cube which shifted beneath their weight. The trick was that at the last moment they had to grip the spikes and swing onto the last obstacle, the floating bars – that led in a gentle slop downward suspended midair. When Harry hit the ground to look across the mud pit at his cheering friends (and the sulking Sabertooth) it hit home what he had done and he found himself laughing, hugging, and patting the others on the back caught up in it just like the others.

"You took twenty minutes – I expect better then they had from you, Lance." It seemed somehow easier having done it to watch Lance, Remy, and Wanda go through. They hit a few snags…Wanda was afraid of heights and moved perhaps as slow as Fred had much to her teams distress the cube actually _did_ catch up to them – making things worse was that Remy accidently "charged" the cube, after that they had vaulted up the wall, safely away from the exploding mass just in time, only to discover the traps where Lance used the very mud to form earthen walls around them as protection.

Sabertooth said fifteen, though it had felt quicker. Last were Quicksilver, Pyro, and Rogue – the sky was getting noticeably darker and to sped things up for the first time Harry witnessed Rogue's ability to absorb powers as she took in Pietro's speed. It seemed they would be the quickest, as they didn't run into trouble until the spiked cube near the bars.

Harry watched in a sick slowness as Pyro slipped his grip on the bar, Harry found himself acting without thinking his fingers hooked into a "grip" and he shoved with his magic to let Pyro have a second chance at getting a grip on a bar. Even to the others it looked suspicious, Pyro visibly jerking upward midair.

When they got safely of their own ability to the ground Pyro was viably disturbed by what had happened, though Sabertooth did give them the fastest time of ten – and that was with speed on their side, though they hadn't been as careful as Harry felt they should have been.

"What happened up there, Pyro?" Lance asked as they made their way to the cabin that would hold them. The others seemed to hold their breath to hear his answer, though Harry rubbed his fingers together nervously, as if he could still free his power in them.

"I don't know, man. It felt – no – I swear, something lifted me up so I'd get another chance at the bars." Pyro told them uneasily, unsure how his answer to the strange happening would be taken. No one said much after that, all of a sudden they became withdrawn and worried. It could be a new power – or interference – or something else.

'Maybe you've got an angel watching out for ya." Rogue murmured softly, her words caused Harry's lips to twitch in amusement, though no one spoke as they settled into sleep. Harry's last thought was something about angels not having cat looks.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

' _Angels don't leave bruises_.' Pyro thought sarcastically as he looked into the mirror. It was still dark out, but the pain in his back had kept him awake. Now that he saw the physical sign of it, he felt anger stir, someone had helped him and they hadn't said anything.

It _could_ have been Wanda; she had that freaky magic-like power that seemed to have limit. Then again, Wanda was the type to take credit for her doings. No one else could have done this. Not that he knew of.

This meant…they had an unknown power stirring among them, it was rare to have two powers, but not unheard of, in the end it meant one of them could project their will – and some of their physical power – into saving another from afar. It could also be used to hurt someone who'd never see it, that he knew was what the others were thinking and worrying over.

He'd have to make sure Mystique and Magneto knew about this – saw it with their own eyes, even – Sabertooth wasn't always good at telling everything he knew. He left chucks out, and if you didn't wise up to it, he'd never say so until too late to do any good. Reluctantly, though stubbornly, Pyro dragged himself from the cabin to where he thought Mystique and Magneto would be, before he reached the door he heard a whisper that caught his attention.

"This is proof then, that boy has magic." Pyro paused, not moving but not announcing his presence either that had been Magneto in response to something Sabertooth's gruff voice had rumbled. He got the feeling he had stumbled into something – but who had "magic"? Was it what it sounded like? Or something else, something sinister that Magneto had put into one of them without their knowing…

"Yes, he's seemed far too accepting of all he has seen. He hasn't questioned anything. He watches and it gives me the creeps." Mystique admitted softly, there was a huff of amusement from Sabertooth – then a pained grunt – Pyro winced, guessing that Mystique hadn't been pleased at having found her discomfort amusing. Still, the answers to his "help" were here, his gut told him so.

"So, the question remains, what do we do with him?" Magneto asked them, though Pyro thought it was so they could all be on the same level then any sharing or splitting of leadership on his part. Magneto did not strike him as someone who'd care what those who kept allegiance to him would thing so long as they understood his goal and had the same. Pyro swallowed, could they be plotting on getting rid of one of the Brotherhood? Pyro wouldn't let them split the group, he'd tell the others and they'd get out…somehow…

"Keep him." Sabertooth grunted, having recovered swifter then Pyro would have thought. Pyro let himself relaxed, but his breath caught in alarm and he felt the hair at the back of his neck raise at Mystique's next words…

"Yes, a wizard known is a wizard kept…if he has issues with the magical world he'll be grateful even more so for taking him in, even knowing as we do what he is if we chose to let him know before he tells us so himself. Otherwise, he'll wait until there isn't a chance of escaping the unanswerable questions about him – or until someone needs him – like Pyro did today - or his temper flares like it did with you, Sabertooth. Such is the fate of wizards, they help their natures." Mystique sounded as if she knew this from a personal experience – but, Pyro wondered – how could she?

"Still, the stench of magic on him is damned powerful – he'd be a deadly enemy." Sabertooth's voice grated on Pyro, if only he knew who they were talking about….

"I don't intend to keep him if he desires to go elsewhere; I would be a fool to do so, even to a wizard as young as our 'Chesire Cat', a Trickster indeed." Pyro felt his heart flutter wildly in his chest, like a trapped bird aching to be free. He took a halting step back from the door, then another – then he fled.

"Still, its proof of his youth that he's been trapped in the form he wares now." Magneto continued, unaware that they had been overheard by anyone, Mystique frowned thoughtfully, tapping her nail to her chin, and then she smiled pleased with the answer she had come up with.

"I'll try to help him along with that, I don't know how it came about the magical change, but shape changing, however its done, is alike my own talents. I will offer my assistance to him, in the guise of "humanizing" his features." Mystique told them, Magneto nodded thoughtfully, waving a hand – a clear indication for her to take her leave.

"You may attempt to teach him during the nights." Magneto then told her before she opened the door; Mystique nodded thoughtfully then went on to where the Brotherhood cabin was, and entered not pausing until she reached Harry's bedside and shook at his shoulder urgently until he dazedly awoke.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Mystique…?" Harry murmured, squinting up at her in the darkness of the cabin. The second time of being woken up by her was no more pleasant then the last, Harry saw then that her eyes gleamed amber as she glanced about in the darkness. She seemed uneasy, and Harry became curious to what could cause her to be so.

"Yes; I have something I want to speak to you about. Follow me." For all that it was not a request, having been woken in the middle of the night made Harry oddly compliant to go along with it. Whatever it was, the quicker he went about doing as asked, the swifter he could crawl back to bed. It was also safer then waking one of the Brotherhood up.

"What is it?" Harry asked her, watching with wary eyes as she shut the "café" door behind her. Harry felt as if this was a trap, though he glanced upward only once – the lights had been replaced. Mystique finally turned to him, her gaze unsettlingly sympathetic as she took in his features.

"I know how it can be troubling to look so different then the others." Mystique told him gently, though she did not reach out to pat him or hug him, Harry felt as uncomfortable as if she had.

"I…" Harry started to say, but Mystique raised her hand for his silence – he gave it to her, though he wasn't sure even later what he would have said to her words. What could he say when faced with Mystique? She baffled him, up till now she had been purposely distant if not outright unfriendly.

"I can help you there." Mystique said after a moment, lowering her hand, she seemed to have kept the silence in that little while to have made sure he wouldn't interrupt her while she made the offer. This was important to her.

"How?" Harry asked then, making an effort to keep his doubt from showing in his tone. Mystique seemed to know this, and her lips curled into something that was not quite a smile - for it held more then kindness – but seemed to be as close as she could come to one.

"If you meditate with me, I will teach you – but you must – at least in this, trust me." Mystique stated, glancing to the floor where Harry saw the two thin sitting mats that she must have placed there after the Brotherhood had left. She had planned this, Harry realized, whatever her intentions, she had planned to help him in her own way. In the only way she knew how.

"I will." Harry murmured, and was rewarded with a more sincere smile, pale blue lips curling to slow off white teeth. Mystique gestured for him to stand on the mat – for once he was glad his cat-like form did seem to need shoes and in fact seemed to object to them adamantly.

Standing across from him, Mystique simply shifted into the form of a pale woman with high cheekbones and slighted eyes, her dark hair fell like a waterfall down her shoulders touching a white cream shirt, her legs covered by old fashioned brown leather leggings and no shoes, she was vaguely familiar but Harry couldn't place where he had seen someone like her. For the first time he wondered just how old she was, when she could look like anyone at any age it was almost impossible to tell. Her natural form of blue hued skin and amber eyes didn't leave any hints, other then that she was surely an adult.

"Now sit upon the floor, there you are – cross your legs like so – yes, that's right, now close your eyes and try to distance yourself from what your senses tell you. Your in no rush now…" Mystique instructed and Harry let himself fall back into a pattern of obeying, though keeping his questions to himself to review later when this exercise passed.

It reminded him of how he had been trained - to relax when he had the chance – because when things happened, there was no sleeping through it if he had wanted to live. Such as with meditation he had learned that he was more open to the suggestion of sleep, and – more dangerously – he was also open to the suggestion of a voice not his own.

It reminded him keenly that it didn't matter if he was "too strong willed" when alert and aware, everyone got tired and drained when they wanted to sleep, even those who thought themselves immune to such weren't when certain things happened to them too quickly. Harry had had to be very careful all his life about Voldemort, that the Dark Lord had entered his dreams had worried his trainers, so he had had to do this three times a day until it came naturally to him. That he was willing to trust Mystique in this did not mean he was not wary of her. She had showed she wanted to help, and maybe a shape shifter would have better luck teaching him to control his appearance then he was having on his own. It certainly wouldn't hurt to try…

Harry then found it did hurt – very badly – it hurt like it had hurt with that bone burning and nerve tearing pain to change into the cat form in the first place. Harry didn't know he had cried out, he only knew his own magic seemed to be trying to tear him apart bit by bit. He heard Mystique call out to him, dragging him back to a reality where his mind wasn't on fire with pain, though sweat had broken over his brow and he shook with tension, expecting his body to hurt, though it did not.

"It didn't work." Mystique murmured softly, her yellow eyes showed her regret, and she sighed in disappointment. Harry felt odd then, as if he should do or say something to comfort her. He might have said something, if thunder had not rumbled overhead – Harry found himself cringing as rain thudded onto the tin roof atop them.

Lightning streaked over the sky, throwing the "café" into brilliant detail, etched into his memory by the sudden light. Mystique seemed to notice his awe of the storm, and smiled as she stood, he followed her graceful movement with his own which felt heavy and awkward. She stood by the window, staring out at the land as it was pelted by rain.

"But, you did try, that is honorable. If you think of yourself as one who is as powerful as this storm that has built over us," Harry tensed then, her words sounded like a accusation and he couldn't help but think that perhaps he had summoned this storm up – it had been a calm night…"even so, even the storm has lightning to ground it – if you can not learn control – then you must have someone to pull you back to the hear and now when things get to be worse." Harry did not doubt that things would get worse; he had a different sort of magic now. One that _reacted_ to what was happening – was _aware_ like a living thing, that was very different from when he had had to reach for the magic to use it like any ordinary wizard. Even though Mystique was speaking about storms and mutant genes, Harry felt her topic would cover his newly wild magic as well.

"I suggest you find someone to be intimate with…." Mystique finished then, walking away though she had seemed to be amused that Harry - who had cat like features – was tongue tied. Someone who wanted to be funny would say that the "cat who got his tongue" was himself. Harry shook his head, going over what she had told him as he made his way to the door – at the threshold – he paused.

' _She … just told me to get laid…_ ' Harry flushed, and as only a cat could –for all that it was raining hard – avoided the water altogether as he went back to the Brotherhood cabin and climbed into bed trying not to think of what had been suggested least he be unable to find sleep.


	10. Magic-On-The-Mountain-Top

If there had been a way to better devise his confusion, Harry could not think of it. Before the sun had even risen, the lot of them had been woken roughly with a lot of yelling – and still groggy they'd been handed cold weather parkas, leggings, and gear in 'survival' packs at least a third of their weight.

As if that wasn't enough confusion, there had been a process of stuffing food into ones mouth before they could _think_ to ask a decent question, promptly there after they had been shuffled onto a small plane, with engines on its wings; it had landed rather noisily in front of the "café". They'd been piled onto it, and in darkness they'd been sent off to the-pilot-only-knew-where. The pilot wasn't talking.

It was lightening, the sun glaring as it rose, even now, but the terrain had changed so much _before_ they could see it that they knew two things very well – this was not flat-but-hilled land where the camp was, and mountains were hellishly scary in the air when the pilot insisted on flying closer then most liked.

At least they got a good look at snow and the dark jagged rocks which would be their reward for a crash. It was good instinctive not to hassle the pilot, as Lance had learned quite swiftly. For the most part as a whole they were withdrawn, yawning, and brooding loud and clear. Then again, Harry didn't think the Brotherhood were morning people.

Harry had the rather bad feeling that they were going to be _landing_ on those snow covered mountains. Bad feeling was proven right, the pilot tilted the plane upwards, tail down and nose up, it was the oddest sensation to be sure your stomach was crawling up your spine.

"What are ye _doing_!" Rogue shrieked in a rage, her grip on the arm seats white knuckled. A red-on-yellow light blared, it read in all capital letters; NO LANDING GEAR. Harry was fairly certain the feeling of snakes with too cold scales sliding along his spine was his intestines joining his stomach in the race for his throat.

" _This is the pilot speaking, please make your way to the back of the aircraft where you will find parachutes, put them on as indicated and prepare to evacuate. This is not a drill._ " Rogue had gotten very pale, and wide eyed beside her was Wanda, with thinly pressed lips. Lance swallowed, and stood awkwardly, for he was all but lying down as he did so. Up, Harry was learning, was a relative term. He tried to remember something that would save a wizard or witch from a fall at a great height. His mind went blank.

"Fred, Mortimer, and Remy, you're all nearest the back, you've got to get out first so we can too." Lance said somewhat shakily, he licked his lips, but Remy had only nodded and gestured for Fred and Mortimer to follow as they crawled to the back. Sure enough, there were nine bright red parachute packs, hooking them onto the twenty pounders they'd been given as survival gear, now they thought they knew why; though no one wanted to know if this was a "test" as well, or some accident.

Remy was the one to open the door for them, the plane rocked unsettlingly, but no one was flung out as Harry had half thought they would with the plane tilted as it was. Fred and Mortimer glanced back only once, seeming to seek out Harry. He was all too aware this might be the last time he saw them, Remy managed to close the door part way as he fell away from the plane.

"Right, just like that, Wanda, Pietro, and Rogue, you're up next. We'll be out as soon as you have, all right?" Rogue nodded tightly, gritting her teeth as she made her slow way to the back of the plane, Pietro and Wanda keeping her carefully between them. They had managed to the red 'chutes and gotten them on along with their survival packs, Wanda had gone out first, with Rogue and Pietro following after. This time no one bothered to half-close the door on the way out.

They belly crawled down to the back, and Harry had a moment to see that they were going down – quickly – and the plane had not leveled out in the least. With survival pack tucked under the 'chute, Lance was first, then Harry was out, followed by Pyro, who had yelled something about "cats" and "feet"; Lance was falling ahead of them, and with the wind rushing by his ears if they had been screaming or not, Harry could not have heard it. Harry only looked up once, and felt betrayed as he did – the plane leveled off, mocking as it headed away until it was a glimmer in the vast sky.

It was the ground he concerned himself with the most, though. It was all too quickly approaching, but Harry didn't know when he was supposed to open the 'chute, he kept his eye out for others – but he didn't catch sight of any other red-blooming mars against the blue sky. Without warning, Lance's 'chute opened up, and Harry was quick to tug open his own, not wanting to get tangled up with Lance or Pyro.

They managed to 'aim' for a snow bank, snow cushioned the fall, but they had to be quick about taking off the 'chutes least they be snatched from the ground by a strong wind. Pyro's 'chute got away, but it was better then losing Pyro.

"What the hell was all that about?" Pyro yelled, frustrated, kicking at snow in the direction the plane had left, Harry knew then he wasn't the only one who had noticed the lack of emergency the plane had displayed once they had leapt from it. Harry had already decided quite firmly – as this was his first apparent at muggle-flying machines – that it would be his last. He hoped the others had fun getting on another plane, Harry would fly - magically, or do _something,_ no technology found logical.

"My guess…this is yet another test, we should try to find the others…" Lance trailed off, his eyes flickering from white capped mountain to mountain top, it was clear he had tried and failed at getting a glimpse of the bleeding red 'chute against the snow or sky.

"Wouldn't bet on it, my guess is they'll pick us up my next morning, could be miles separating us from the others. This was done on propose, remember. Likely they have an excuse of testing survival and endurance or some such bull-shit." Pyro ranted, and then frowned, looking to the survival packs. He'd lost his with the 'chute, but he surely knew they'd share what rations they had.

"Check the packs." There was an odd tone to Pyro's voice; neither questioned it as they did what Pyro had asked of them. They needed to know what sort of things they had, in any case. Harry felt his mouth go dry at the sight that greeted him when he opened the "survival pack", bricks and newspapers. Harry glimpsed Lance's – mud and wet matchsticks. Pyro grunted, not sounding in the least surprised.

"Bet they're having a right laugh, about now." Harry murmured, eyes narrowed on the bit of newspaper that had gotten away, clutched up by the wind. He found himself angry, remembering the offer of help Mystique had offered – had it been real help, or something to distract him all along? She was probably no better then Sabertooth with his sneer.

"This reeks, we've got to stay put…" Lance began, soft and just a bit unsure, Pyro practically pounced on him, trouncing his words into grit as he spoke somewhat scathing and know-it-all, but no less right for all that.

"Like hell we are, you don't know anything about open little snow banks like this do you? They freeze, genius, we've got to find shelter before we do anything else, and lug those 'chutes with you, if we get even a _spark_ I'll call up the fire we need….until then, well, we'll climb up to those cliffs, there's got to be a cave in them, otherwise we won't last long and _they'd_ know it." Pyro had nodded to a cliff at least two buildings high above them. It wasn't much, but Harry wasn't fond of heights, not after jumping form a plane.

"Alright," Lance nodded to Pyro, grudgingly, though he gathered up his 'chute and 'survival' pack just as Harry did, "we'll do this your way." Harry didn't think it was very promising that it started to snow as they trudged along behind Pyro.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"You know," Pyro murmured his breath warm against the shell of Harry's ear, Harry shivered and for once it was not because of the cold, "you're not very good at it." There was something mean about the way Pyro said those words that made Harry frown at him in confusion. Pyro had led them up the mountain cliffs; they had taken the bricks from Harry's pack and were even now supposed to be pounding chips of ice of the rock, hoping it would lead them to the sight of a cave.

"I don't…" Harry started to say, only to see Pyro's lips quirk and his eyes glance to Lance. It was a warning, whatever it was that Pyro seemed to know, and was hinting that Harry did also; he didn't want to be overheard by Lance.

"You don't fit in, Harry, and it took me till last night to figure out why – you're not normal - but you're not a freak of a mutant either, I don't know why – or how - it is but somehow you have …magic." There was some tone of reverence in Pyro at that word, and Harry couldn't look him in eye with his next words.

"I don't understand what you're talking about, Pyro." Harry told him, loud enough to be heard but no louder. This was the _last_ thing he needed. Harry bit his lip, the chill of the air and wind biting at the bit of wet flesh. It stung; it kept him from falling into where Pyro was leading with hushed words, spoken so accusingly.

"Talking 'bout how last night I heard Sabertooth telling Magneto and Mystique of the stink of magic on you. How you went off last night alone with Mystique. How I didn't bloody myself on that nightmare of a flying two-bit jungle gym. How I got bruises on my back what says someone about your size, unseen, pulled me up when I would have landed in mud." Harry felt as if a good wind would sweep him off the cliff side, he felt so unreal, as if suddenly without substance or weight. Pyro was confident in every word, and it felt like another shovel full of mud on his grave. His survival had depended on staying hidden among the Brotherhood, but it seemed it was not to be. Without the protection of a group – without the Brotherhood – the Ministry and its Council would find him all too soon.

"I had nothing to do with that, you just caught yourself with your footing, is all! As for last night, Mystique just wanted to help me control my appearance, and as for the rest – I'm not responsible to what you overhear snooping about like that." With every soft word Harry had to work to keep his eye or face from flinching or looking to Pyro, had to act as if none of it touched him, when he felt smothered by the accusations.

"I _caught_ myself." With his words tainted plainly with sarcasm and disbelief, Harry knew Pyro wasn't going to let this rest.

"Y-yes." For the first time Harry looked Pyro plain in the face, the red head saw his lie plainly on whatever expression he read off it, his face darkened in anger even as Pyro stepped away, snow dripping over the cliff side he stood on the edge of.

"Maybe I'll 'catch' myself again, eh, Harry?" Pyro muttered, glancing beside himself, he seemed without fear but Harry read the insecurity in his gesture. Harry felt a sickness in his stomach; everything seemed to ache within him, a warning – an instinct, but Harry didn't know what he could do without showing Pyro right. His pride and self instinct for survival tore at him.

"What are you doing Pyro?" Harry didn't think his lips had moved, but he heard the words, for they were his. Lance was too far away; perhaps he could have stopped Pyro from being so rash if Harry had called out from the start for his help.

"Proving a point; if I'm wrong, I'll see you when you die – if I'm right, you'll see me in a bit." A dangerous grin lifted the corners of Pyro's mouth, that sure grin and unreadable pair of eyes was the last Harry saw of Pyro as he started to step back…

"No – don't…!" Harry cried out at a scream, unable to stop himself. Lance looked up confused, to Pyro - seeing what was going to happen, his mouth forming the words of his friend's name even as Harry head them they seemed to come too late…

"Pyro!" Harry felt his heart speed up, aching as it stung lungs and blood with panic, Harry had only a moment as he watched, weighted and heavy too to move as Pyro was dropping, something like panic filled his eyes in that moment that he looked again at Harry, the fear of being wrong…

But he wasn't wrong, and no matter that it would mean his past caught up to him all the quicker – no matter it meant he had showed himself to be what he was – that they might use him, manipulate him, for his ability in magic. He would not let Pyro die.

" _Stop_!" His voice rung out, like a bell chime, the wind died, the snow stopped, even the air did not stir, for a moment he didn't feel his heart beat and feared he had stopped time, frozen in awareness of Pyro falling and Lance's face frozen in terror. Then he felt his heart shudder and he _knew_ Pyro had been caught in whatever magic he had forced into life, but by what form it would take he did not know even as he gestured upward, moving whatever wild magic had seen fit to aid him with to the cliff side where he stood. Lance was looking at him, wide eyed, as if he wasn't sure Harry was real or dream.

A fist of earth, with Pyro caught in the grip of thumb and forefinger, came into sight. He looked like a plucked fruit, but his eyes shown with triumph and relief. Harry felt himself shake, trembling as he put his hand to the icy snow of the cliffs and calling up his power, tired, he wanted a cave – and he got it, a man sized opening gapped open as if the cliff had opened its mouth, Harry gestured again and not too gently the earth hand slid Pyro, ass over head, into the cavern. He did not quite dismiss the magic as felt it fall from his ability to use, the hand sunk into the mountain, where Harry hoped it would stay.

Harry did not notice his hand come away from the ice, bloody, but Lance had. With pale face and pressed lips he watched as Harry absentmindedly flicked a finger – and where the finger pointed, a fire started, ironically it was at the base of Pyro's feet. Harry looked to Pyro then, as if not sure what to say, he looked as if he wanted to tell Pyro to keep the fire going, but wasn't sure why he would do so. Pyro frowned, and that's when Lance knew he wasn't imagining that Harry wasn't acting as he should be.

"My hands…." Harry mumbled in puzzlement, only then did Lance see that the claws and light silvery dusting of hair was gone, leaving pale skin bloodless even as they bled out. Lance caught Harry before he staggered to the ground, he saw with wide eyes that that was not the only change – Harry didn't look like a cat anymore, save for his silvery hair and ears and tail, he didn't look anything like what Lance had remembered. It looked frail with too pale skin and white hair and eerie green eyes. He looked like some sort of snow creature, perhaps a fairy, but Lance didn't have the words for the look of beauty about him. Ice froze the cavern mouth shut, like a tomb.

"He…he's cold." Lance could not help but say, and he looked up to meet Pyro's eyes, they were as wide as he feared his own were, and just as frightened. Harry seemed not to know the danger he was in, as he blinked at them, and in that moment Lance feared Harry didn't know them, for all the reaction he showed.

"Oh, god…Harry... I…what have I done….?" Pyro was muttering to himself as he kept one eye on Harry and built the fire, almost recklessly he made a fire ring, feeding it the 'chutes and packs, flame seemed to burn even mud and brick, and for the first time Lance wondered if those things were what they appeared to be. Or if it was that the fire was magical.

"He isn't getting any warmer." Lance heard his own voice, raw, panicked; he wondered if he could sound less like himself. It was taking longer for Harry to open his eyes after he closed them, but Lance couldn't bear to shake him, not when he looked so confused and frail.

"Strip him, I don't know what this is, but it's acting like hypothermia, stealing the heat from him….body heat is energy on its own, might help more then mere magic fire." Pyro suggested, crawling to Harry's side, he didn't protest when they took him out of the chilled clothing, little bits of snow had frozen to it. One at a time they stripped out of their own clothes, only Pyro had the sense to spread them out on the rocks around the fire ring. The cavern was still chill, but it was warm, and Lance tucked Harry against him, weakly – as if in protest – a tail twitched against the stone floor. Lance stopped himself from laughing, he was relived that Harry showed that much life.

Lance was suddenly aware of Pyro, who curled against Harry's other side protectively. Pyro who'd stepped off the edge of the cliff to prove a point. For Harry's sake, Lance was suddenly furious with his best friend.

"What did you do?" Lance growled the words out, and Pyro's head jerked up in surprise, he looked hurt but Lance had seen what he had done and wanted to know why. Pyro might have guessed as much. Or he didn't want Lance as angry with him as he was.

"It was to prove a point, is all Lance. I didn't know it…it'd do this. He's got magic, heard the adults tell it to themselves, and knew it was how I didn't up in worse shape from yesterday. He has magic, Lance, and he'd have never said a word. It's a secret now, and it's important to him, we've got to keep it…" Pyro seemed to want to make up for his actions, what he'd done to drive Harry to use his magic so recklessly. This wasn't like in fairy tales where magic didn't cost anything to the one who wielded it, this was real life, and it seemed to Pyro that magic demanded of the user as much as it gave. It haunted him, how quickly Harry had gone from fine to so sick and cold he seemed unable to give off heat.

"We will." There was something reassuring in Lance's tone, something that made Pyro sure that they'd keep this secret whatever it took. He was grateful, and breathed in a little easier even with the heat of Lance's skin on his own, preparing to say the rest of what he thought.

"He's running from something, I'd bet, its how he acts, makes sense now. He's been watching us all along, trying to blend in; what if there are others like him? What if what I made him do…what if _they_ have a way of knowing he's done all this?" Pyro knew the difference, it'd only been a short distance from the bar he'd missed, and this time there was something a bit _strange_ about it. He'd felt sure, when he had heard Harry's voice, that he'd be stuck mid-way through a fall forever. Then, it had jerked itself to rights, if _he_ could feel something like that, what if _they_ –the rest of Harry's sort - did too?

"If _they_ do, _they'll_ face us before _they_ touch him. Magneto knew about him, so he must know the risk of these others – if there are any, he might be the only one, at least of his sort, so…I'm sure Magneto must have a plan to protect him." Lance finished, feeling a bit lame as he did so. Pyro said nothing, merely laying his head on Harry's chest, as if by putting it there he'd make sure Harry would keep breathing and his heart would beat on. Lance found himself closing his eyes, lulled by heat of fire and skin to a dazed sort of sleep.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

' _I'm such_ _an idiot_ ,' Harry mused sleepily, not quite aware of his surroundings, ' _to use magic around mutants has proven hard enough, to do what I did should have killed me_ …' It would have, Harry was sure, if he had been alone. It was only then that he felt bare flesh pressed intimately against his own, thighs pressed firmly between legs, and bare arms touched his torso and a head of hair pooled on his chest while his own face was tucked beneath the neck of someone else.

He felt himself flush, and didn't struggle though he must have given away somehow that he was awake for Pyro, head still prone against his chest, stirred and blinked sleepily at him. It took him a moment to realize Harry was well and truly awake, then Pyro smiled, with nothing to hide or hint at something other then his feeling at the moment, his smile was whole – lovely for that. Harry felt his breath caught, and he wondered why Pyro would feel so open with him.

He didn't get a chance to ask as mischief danced in Pyro's gaze, he glanced to Lance, lips quirking. He put a finger to Harry's lips, winking wickedly, then he moved lower and Harry had only a moment to wonder what he was about to do before Harry felt a the slick heat of a tongue lap at his cock, Harry flushed, and bit his lip to keep from making any sort of sound. Lance lay against him and would feel any movement, hear anything if he made a sound of pleasure….that seemed the point of Pyro's little game.

Then he swallowed his length, and Harry could not help but cry out, his voice filling the empty places within the cavern and echoing the cry back. Harry felt Lance jerk; moving against him until he saw plainly what Pyro was intending to do. Harry wondered what Lance would think, and then he arched, a tongue lapped between his thighs, and he felt he didn't truly have a choice as he spread them, trembling.

Lance groaned softly at the sight, and there was heat in his eyes when he looked to Harry to see his pale skin flushed and his lips reddened from where he had bitten to keep from making a sound. Lance knelt over him for a long moment, and Harry felt himself drift, Pyro played and teased him so he could not think of one thing least the heat of his body make it less real.

Only then did Lance kiss him, seeming to enjoy it as his tongue wrestled with Harry's own inexperienced one, Lance groaned when Harry danced his tongue over the roof of the other males mouth, suddenly Lance – much bigger then either Harry or Pyro – was hovering over him, pressing his wrists and hands into the stone ground so Harry could not move to push him away – or closer.

When Lance finally parted from his lips, he gave Harry a faint smile. With his thick brown hair having been made wild by wind and snow, he looked like something out of a story book of a wild man who'd lived his boyhood among wild things. Lance's lips turned upward and he wondered if he'd spoken, but it did not seem so.

"I…," Lance heard Pyro cough meaningfully behind him and Harry shivered when he felt hot breath against his groin, "we would like to…damn-it, Pyro, stop making him distract me." Lance glared behind himself and met Pryo's impudent grin while Harry could not stop himself from whimpering as Pyro stoked a finger from base to tip. Lance let out something like a growl.

"I would rather not…." Pyro purred, seeing the effect his 'teasing' was having upon his friend. There was no hiding that he was hard, they had all been without clothes since the beginning, and perhaps that was best. It was certainly how Pyro preferred it.

"You'd rather just have your way with him..." Lance snarled, trying to make it sound as if he was abusing Harry somehow. Pyro took offence of that, but did not stray his lips as he teased the edge of Harry's thighs and watched Lance's eyes turn dark with lust. He liked that they both drew this effect from Lance. Mostly, though, both were glad to see that Harry had lived and were showing him in a way he would enjoy.

"Guilty… and he's not said he's uninterested, in fact I think his body begs that he is…" Pyro murmured, knowing his own eyes had darkened, he wondered what they looked like for he had always liked to think of an image of himself and his lover – or, rather – lovers entwined. He just couldn't afford such a thing, though his imagination more then made up for it. Harry's hips arched up, silently pleading, and this more then any word caught both their attention as they looked to Harry.

"…P-please." Harry finally whispered, lips half lowered, his lips were plump and bruised from Lance's kiss, silver hair in disarray on the dark rocks and flickering flame only made it obvious that he was still pale and trembled. Lance, feeling sickened as he thought he and Pyro had taken advantage drew closer to Harry, nuzzling his face into the fine hair. It smelt pleasant, like burnt amber of some winter tree.

"Harry, please….do you want us to stop?" Lance pleaded, wishing Harry would speak without them asking, but he would not and that was simply how he had become to survive. Pyro shared a look with him, it was somber and disheartened, as Pyro seemed to realize that through his own actions they might have lost Harry…

"No…want…inside…" Harry stirred then, gasping and squirming and they saw then that his eyes were as dark and wanton as their own. It was a welcome relief, and as Harry looked into Lance, he knew that Harry wanted _him_. Pyro seemed to be able to say it, even if Lance felt his tongue too thick for words.

"God, Lance…he, he wants to…" Pyro stuttered to a stop, his cheeks as red as his hair, Lance knew then that Pyro hadn't intended it to go so far as this, and felt better that he had not been led into this from the beginning. As he moved toward Pyro, he moved aside, seeming to know Lance would do as Harry wished, and no more.

"I know." Lance murmured, something like awe thick in his eyes as he touched the sickly skin of his soon to be lovers thighs, and pressed teasingly against the heavy sacks, licking at the tip of his length before flicking his tongue against Harry's entrance making him cry out softly in pleasure.

"Isn't it hot?" Pyro murmured, touching the inside of Harry's ankles and making him shiver.

"Yes…move, Pyro, I…want him…" Lance was at a loss of how to say it, but Pyro didn't need his words, he simply understood – it was why they worked so well together. Pyro instead went to let Harry lay his head on his thigh. Pyro was not the only one to notice Harry inhale, something like possessiveness flashing through his green eyes. For a moment Lance wondered what they were taking into their bed – and lives, for such as they were mutants, they saw being intimate as only another step in a bond that would build and could be relied upon.

"Damn, this'll be something to see." That didn't mean they didn't enjoy the sex any less. Pyro was murmuring to Harry, leaning over to kiss and touch, even as Lance pressed himself slowly into the sliver haired boy, a cat ear flicked, and Lance froze swallowing fear of rejection as he spoke.

"Harry, Pyro has teased you enough so that it shouldn't hurt…if you want to stop tell me and I will, alright…?" Fierce green eyes glared down at him, and the slender body beneath his writhed invitingly beneath him, forcing him deeper. He gasped, and seeing out of the corner of his eye the flick of a tail, grasped it firmly and brushed his thumb over the fine soft hairs.

Harry cried out, closing his eyes, panting, seeming to have been affected more then Lance had counted on with a mere touch of his tail. Pyro shared a glance with him, lips quirking; Lance shoved into the youth beneath him, at the same time his fingers dragged smoothly over the fur of his tail.

"Ah…hot, more…." Harry pleaded, eyes closed as he made soft sounds of pleasure with something like a _purr_ that hung in the air not-voiced, but seemed to wrap about them soothingly, urging more and quickening Lance's lust.

"Ha…harder…" Harry cried out again, after he spoke, and Lance felt his control slip, something like triumph danced in Harry's green eyes as he watched Lance – who looked wild and untamable, trembled and quake as he cried out his lovers name in warning.

"H-Harry…!" Lance arched neck and back, gasping for air he could not seem to get as his pleasure swirled and pulsed and took him like a living thing. Lance found himself laid out beside Harry, though he could not remember getting their, Pyro offered some clue with a wicked grin.

"You two are…very good together…" Pyro mused, though there was in his eyes like a sadness, as if he expected to be cast aside, Lance wanted to say something to reassure him, but before he could…Harry did instead, and his voice, Lance mused somewhat amused and dismayed at his own and Pyro's weakness, was much more effective then either of theirs.

"Suck…" Lance felt himself ache to do so, but it was Pyro whose gaze had caught with Harry's own.

"Harry…." Pyro's voice was aching, as if he could not bear to be teased by Harry's whim. Even so, Harry's demand – no, order – left its make on Pyro plainly enough.

"God, Pyro, never seen you so hard…" Lance mused, looking boldly upon his best friend, a flush passed over Pyro's cheeks, and he gasped as Harry – as hard as Pyro – sat up, looking to Pyro with a heat that burned and healed and aroused all at once. Lance did not know how Pyro took that gaze so long, perhaps it was because he was used to dealing with the lure of fire and wielding some control over it.

Harry was no ones to control. Pyro shuddered with that break of eye contact, falling back as if to get away though in the end he only laid prone on his back, legs spread, hand touching himself as if he could not help but do so. Perhaps he could not.

"Please, I…I need you in me…" Pyro begged, bottom lip trembling with his broken plea, his finger pressing against his entrance in a wanton display that could not be taken back. Lance knew in that moment that Pyro would never take such an offer of himself back, and as Lance watched, arm propping him up, Harry had crawled between Pyro's spread legs, and made soft sounds as Harry slowly pressed himself against the entrance Pyro had been teasing. Pyro's hand fell away, hissing out a pleased breath even as he could not help but whisper encouragingly.

"Yes…" Harry urged, and pressed into him in a slow rolling thrust that made Pyro cry out and close his eyes, helpless to the pleasure he endured.

"God, Pyro…" Lance stirred, heart going out to his friend, for a moment it seemed as if Harry was pushing into him, and he was helpless and cried out as pleasure quickened and became a living thing, but then the moment passed, for Pyro had gasped and moaned and came across their bellies, as Harry thrust into him a few final times.

"Ah!" Harry closed his eyes seeming to collapse against Pyro, who held him even in the daze of his own pleasure. Lance crawled to them, and was reminded of an entwined pile of puppies; for all that Harry was more cat then anything else.

Nonetheless it gave him a comforting sense of familiarity, for all that he not quite heard – but was none the less aware – of a rumbling purr that filled the cavern. It came from Harry. When Lance and Pyro traded looks, they knew it was not imagined, it was merely unseen, but as real as Harry. They fair haired boy stirred, looking to them in a bemused if stricken way, and when he spoke, they knew why he looked so forlorn.

"Love you…both…" Pyro and Lance kissed him, for it was all they could do, for they could not put to words how they felt of Harry for neither had ever known love before, merely bonds of brotherhood or companions of the past. Warm with contentment, they fell into sleep once more.

Only to be woken later by the clash of steel against ice, it gave way as they woke, and a face familiar and loathed appeared, leering as nostrils visibly flared to take in their mingled scents.

"Smells like you've had _fun_." It felt as if Sabertooth had given them his blessing and feeling altogether awkward and defiant the three dressed and followed Sabertooth wordlessly to an enlarged snowmobile. So it was they were taken to their next task at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by dense forest and with the Brotherhood and Magneto to meet them.


	11. A-Magic-Lets-The-World-Turn-About

Only to be woken later by the clash of steel against ice, it gave way as they woke, and a face familiar and loathed appeared, leering as nostrils visibly flared to take in their mingled scents.

"Smells like you've had _fun_." It felt as if Sabertooth had given them his blessing and feeling altogether awkward and defiant the three dressed and followed Sabertooth wordlessly to an enlarged snowmobile. So it was they were taken to their next task at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by dense forest and with the Brotherhood and Magneto to meet them.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"What the _hell_ happened to you?" Rogue was never one for beating around the bush, and it showed. Harry felt his cheeks flush, shifting awkwardly and not looking up to glance to Pyro or Lance. He was very consciously aware of his appearance; he looked not quite like a cat-person any more, though somehow frailer, as if he was made to fit into his snowy surroundings.

The stranger aspects of his 'mutation' had somehow faded with his magic. He still had silver hair, though it was only on his head and fell a little past his shoulders; he even still had his kitty-ears and tail. He loathed the both of them, though Wanda cooing might have had _something_ to do with that.

"We, uh, ran into some trouble finding, erm, _shelter_ , yeah, and well, the important thing is…erk…uh." To say 'a few' were _puzzled_ by Lance's attempts to speak would likely have gotten a dark mutter, or at best an eye roll. Mystique obviously had more class, as she only raised an eyebrow before intervening.

"That my lessons had some effect…" Harry looked at her thankfully, leaving both Lance and Pyro – if it were at all possible – even _more_ puzzled. A hint of a smile could have touched her lips; then again, it might have been a shadow.

"They did?" Lance asked baffled and clueless, Pyro slowly closed his eyes and counted to a triple-digit-number. Few knew the patience it took to deal with Lance, nor appreciated it. In all truth, Pyro was also good with numbers.

"They did." Harry spoke up, seeing as Pyro was otherwise occupied with controlling his temper, which was likely a _very good_ thing.

"Yeah, of course they did." Lance echoed, frowning between Pyro and Harry. His expression said quite plainly that he intended to get answers. It was the expression that Pyro opened his eyes to see, muttering under his breath of block-headed earth-tremblers, Pyro took Lance to the side, likely so the others wouldn't interfere with his attempt to hammer something like sense into his –among other things (leader, lover…) - best friend.

"I…congratulate you, Mystique." Magneto said slowly, as if savoring the words. Though his gaze lingered on Lance and Pyro. That might have been because Pyro – when he got intense (and when was he ever not 'intense'?) – tended to wave his hands about like someone on a stage.

"Thank you, Magneto." There was something very amused in Mystique's tones; Harry looked at her, puzzled. She had always been something of an oddity to him. Their first encounter hadn't gone very well, but she showed an earnest need to help him, and now this…

Magneto, as if to regain control of the situation, cleared his throat. He got attention, not even Lance or Pyro would dare not give him his due.

"Of, course… thus far Brotherhood, we have tested your stamina, your ingenuity, now we will test how well you would survive. You will be prey, you can hide or do anything you like, but we will hunt you, and if you survive long enough, only then will you be allowed to go about and help us recover a captured mutant." Sabertooth gave a fanged smile. It was clear enough which of the three adults had come up with _this_ sort of training.

"Is this understood? There are no rules, you have a half hour or so of a head start, use it well." As Magneto continued, Harry had to stifle a chuckle; Sabertooth looked very much as if he was pouting.

"Yes, Sir." Lance, as was usual, spoke for the Brotherhood. Harry carefully did not dwell on what might happen – what _could_ happen – to fracture that bond. Knowing better then to split up in the sight of their would-be 'hunters', they hustled together into the forest. They had no maps and no supplies. They were also tired and hungry, for they remembered well their last meal had been the morning before heading out toward the mountain.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"That back there, that was a bunch of bull-shit, _they_ likely know it too. What the hell went on that you think you can't talk about in front of us?" Wanda demanded of the three, it seemed the Brotherhood had had its own plan concerning "survival training". It included interrogation and practically shouting out where they were. Harry had little doubt they'd fight off Magneto if they had to, just to get answers.

It wasn't in the least bit amusing, either.

"They had sex." Remy said it plainly enough, and Harry bit his tongue to keep from giggling a bit hysterically. He guessed that "couples" gave off a certain emotion, and one glimpse into either of their minds would likely spell it out simply enough. He felt bad about that; he had honestly _liked_ Remy, he'd been a bit cold but Harry could understand that well enough.

"For shit sake, is _that_ all? God, you three are dense, and here I thought it was something..." Pietro was on the verge of ranting, and it was clear the siblings had been equally suspicious and worried. Wanda was more vocal of it, was all.

"It isn't all." Remy added. Harry had to wonder if he was _enjoying_ this.

"What do ye mean, swamp rat?" Rogue murmured softly, her eyes narrowed as she took in the three in them, as if trying to see what Remy did. It was very discerning, for Wanda and Pietro looked to be trying to mirror her. To give him credit, Harry knew it wasn't Remy who said anything next...

"He's ah…" Mortimer started, stopping mid-sentence when the whole of the Brotherhood turned their eyes to him. He flushed, looking away. For a moment there was relief for the Harry, it didn't last long.

"He's got magic. Or something a lot like it." Fred blurted out, even when doubt and some bit of ridiculousness showed in Rogue and Wanda's gaze, they didn't flinch. Seeing Remy wasn't the least bit surprised they started to put bits of the puzzle together. They were smart, Harry had known _that_ the moment he had met them, it was why he had been so careful, had even gone along with most of the stuff they said.

They knew now, and Harry didn't think he had the magic to pull it from them. They were mutants, there was, after all, something to be said about the magical community and its fears.

"Showing up out of no-where…" Pietro muttered, almost too soft to be heard, but he was, and Harry could see the down-ward spiral of the effect even if he closed his eyes.

"Staying so long like he had, if it had been normal, wouldn't - couldn't have been…" Wanda swallowed, leaving the left unsaid, it didn't need to be spoken. They had always had their suspicions of his shocking appearance going unnoticed for so long…

"To say nothing of his past, we could understand, but…not even a name…what – or who – are ye hiding from? We thought you'd tell us in time – when you trusted us, and we you, was why we didn't push, seems the right time now…" Rogue asked there wasn't anything of an accusation in her, but pity. Maybe even a bit of anger toward what Harry hid from. It made Pyro and Lance both shift uneasily, glancing between each other with some guilt. They had thought they could hide it all from the Brotherhood, but they couldn't even do that.

"What really tipped me off were the lights – not just the ones with Sabertooth…and how the electricity always behaved around you." Fred told him, Mortimer pouted just a little bit at the reminder.

"Does the telly _always_ go on the fritz 'cause of you?" Mortimer asked, and Harry was reminded that there had been a television downstairs, but it hadn't seemed to work…he had thought it for show. It did explain why both of those two had been so cold toward him; they had thought he'd done something on purpose.

"What about you, Remy?" Wanda asked then, calmed down somewhat, though still curious to how Remy had been so sure of the truth.

"He doesn't exist to me. First I thought it was a trick, but he…it's a relief not to have to guard from thought and feeling, is really all." Harry remembered then that Remy had been almost enraged with their first encounter. If would be explained, if he thought Harry were playing with him. He must have realized otherwise later, sometime between when they first sat down at the table…and when they had met up again that night.

Harry saw Rogue watching him, Lance and Pyro were still both hovering, and he was reminded all at once of being asked his name. What he was. What he hid from. It had come out, but he didn't know if he was supposed to panic, or if it was to be a relief.

"My name is Harry Potter. I suppose you could say, then, that I am a wizard - an' a mutant. My people don't like that much. Don't like mutants at all, and a closer second to their dislike would be normal folk. Call 'em 'muggles', and those born without a witch or wizard in the family are called 'mud bloods'. I am sorry for…" Harry started to say, but he paused – how could he begin to apologies for deceiving them? For lying, and even putting them in danger…what if even now the Council – or the Ministry – caught up to him and decided to take the Brotherhood as well? It wouldn't have to be for much….even just to spite him.

"Don't be, sorry…Harry. We've all got reasons. What you running from, a bunch of purists?" Wanda asked, only then did he notice she looked fierce and ready to bring harm to those she thought deserving. Harry was flattered she thought him worth so much effort.

"In a way, they have a right to be what they are; last time they walked openly without fear was likely when Rome fell. They – we, rather - are long lived, and human enough to put fear of what was and might be before what could be; powerful enough to be tyrants if we imagine a wrong." There was regret in his words, though they heard the bitterness well enough.

"Is that how they knew?" Pyro asked of him, seeing the open puzzlement, he swallowed, remembering sharply what he had overheard just the other night.

"They _who_?" Rogue questioned him with a frown.

"Magneto and the adults, I mean – heard them talking the other night. They knew you were a wizard, that there is something like a magical community, and they you were likely running from it…how'd they known otherwise, if you didn't tell them so?" Pyro licked his lips, visibly nervous.

"I don't know…." Harry glanced to the ground so they could not see his expression. Remy understood and moved forward, if the Brotherhood had been anything but supportive, they would have recognized the gesture as protective. Remy met each of there eyes, certain only then that he had their attention.

"No time to find out, either, our half-hour is half wasted, if we don't want to be caught all at once and have to run this through again, I'd suggest splitting up." It was not asked who would stay by Harry's side, they knew, with a nod and half reluctant shrug Lance and Pyro signaled their agreement. They knew Sabertooth would have their scents better then the others, the three of them more then any of the others had to split up. All too soon the two of them were alone.

"Thank you, it's not that I don't - that I want to… hide…." Harry hated that he couldn't seem to explain himself, and paused only when Remy settled a hand on his shoulder.

"I understand…. do not explain yourself, or your people, to me. Come, we must find a vantage point swiftly." Harry was left with little other choice but to follow Remy, he could have gone it alone – but he did not want to face any of the adult mutants one on one without a buffer. It was not that he did not trust them, though he certainly had reason not to. No, what he was…was afraid of what _he_ would do to find out if what he suspected was true.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry bit his tongue when he saw what Remy meant by 'vantage point'. They were up a tree.

Quite _….literally_...

Half remembered lullabies of falling babies, kissing boys and girls, and too many jokes about cats landing on their feet seemed to scramble and buzz mockingly about his mind. Only then did he realize that he was still drained after pulling off what he had. Anyone else would be dead. He only half –wished he was.

Pulling at wild magic – the pure and raw magic of the world, was deadly. Not just for him, either. It messed with the moons pull on waves, it created snow, or too much sun. Though the later might have been welcome on the mountain top, it was far more likely that nature would do what it always had. With a force of will of its own, that will was wild magic. Harry felt an oncoming headache blossoming behind his eyes, and half-preyed that he had done no lasting harm to himself.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Harry asked, only slightly aware that Remy – for all that he had his eyes closed – was very much aware. It was only out of curtsy that Remy let him have a sense of being alone.

"To find the others…I would not think past a day." Harry nodded, though he felt like being anything but calm. There wasn't time to be anything else but level headed, to be anything else might get them caught. Harry didn't want to have to deal with either Magneto or Sabertooth (or, god forbid, Mystique) until he knew what he might do. He might lash out, might try to force answers to questions they did not no. There was no reason to suspect what he did, though he could not help himself.

"You seem glad for that news." Remy's words struck a cord, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. It was bitter. Was he truly so broken to be happy to be on his own - with only Remy for company – it was apparently so…

"More time to think." Harry muttered, wondering if that was the whole truth of it even as he spoke. Did he really want to think of men long dead? Did he really want to think of 'maybes' and 'what ifs' with his mind as it was? The Brotherhood wasn't perfect – but it was human, _family_. They had each other, and that had seemed all that mattered –even to Harry - until now….

"I do not think that is what you need." Remy's words shattered his thoughts, Harry somewhat grateful, glanced to the long coated man who leaned against the trunk, his thighs straddling the branch. Harry was sitting, cat-like, as far as he could get without falling off.

Silver hair – so unlike his usual black – fell into his eyes. He wondered for the first time what his eyes looked like. Were they still his mothers eyes? There would be no way to tell until he had a mirror handy, that chance seemed too far away to be real. He seemed to far from the civilization he remembered with its gritty air and mocking-stone roads.

Plans within plans, law within law, plot within plot. It seemed to him that surrounded by those he wanted to protect – isolated from such things, that they had never been – that it had all been a dream, rather then a distant memory. Yet, like or not, he was to go back in the time it took the others to track them down. Part of him didn't want it to end.

At least with the Brotherhood, he knew that the plots and plans were to change things for the benefit of his make-shift family. It would end, though, if it was because of whatever plot Magneto might hold, or his own past catching up to him, he knew it had to end sometime.

Sooner, likely, then he would want. All the same, all of this, he knew then, was no better then hiding. What good would hiding do in the long run? Nothing at all would come of it. He had power – even if it wasn't the wild magic he used – he could change things for the Brotherhood. Make it better.

Make it work for them. He had that chance, he'd take it, even if it meant stepping into plain sight and becoming a heroic icon – a pawn – a mutant to fear, it was worth that much to keep the Brotherhood from being hunted down and slaughtered – murdered – in cold blood. He would not give those that were cowards – that hid rage behind "for the greater good" lies – to kill those he had come to care for. Not 'muggles', not even the magical world which he had loved in his youth, would he stand aside and let this go on.

"Tell me, Remy, what is it _you_ think I _need_?" Harry asked slowly, coming closer to where Remy had settled, finding that within his own thoughts – cold and alien as they were with realization upon truth – he had a need for human contact. Touch was the most basic of human connection; Harry craved that touch, whatever it would lead to. Remy let him lean against him, offering silent strength and support, a sort of protection that Harry rarely let himself indulge in.

"More then anything…? Someone you can trust. Is it not what we all need most?" Remy wrapped his arms around Harry, cradling him from behind, his chin resting on top of Harry's bowed head. In the cover of trees, shadows were dark enough to rest within. Despite his headache and rambling thoughts – or because of these, Harry let his guard down, let himself slip into sleep, though comforted and knowing that he did not yet need to do what had to be done. For now he could let Remy take care of him, in that he knew Remy would never fail him.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

' _They let us say goodbye, at least..._ ' Harry had only let himself glance over his shoulder once. They could not approach the military/science base from the air, so he had watched Mystique and Magneto herd all the Brotherhood – save Remy and himself – onto the small plane. Supposedly to take all of them back to 'camp' to wait out the outcome.

As for he, Remy, and Sabertooth, they were going back into the mountains, as that was where the base was supposed to be built into. Who had had the idiotic – or was it 'brilliant?' – notion to build a complex in the middle of no where up a mountain top, Harry did not know. What he did what to do to them was – to say the least –vindictive.

Harry saw Sabertooth motion him to circle around, with a somewhat reluctant nod, he did so. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw movement, but ignored it when he saw a sparrow flee its bush. From what he saw of the base, it was indeed built into the heart of a mountain, there was only this entrance fit to use.

The "ventilation" shafts were true shafts made by nature, used to vent heat – and air, now that man had found a way of using them. What trash could be burned, was, no matter what environmentalists said was good or bad to burn. Harry guessed that when you caught people of a minority and planned to use them, you did not start to care about what was good for the air.

What could not be burned, Harry guessed, was buried. Food and other necessities were likely brought in by plane once or twice a month, if the flight was missed; they likely had food to last a while. They were comfortably isolated, and thought they could not be touched.

Harry curled his lip in a snarl, the sharp edge of his teeth showing. 'They' were about to learn otherwise. He moved forward – not yet within sight of the two guards, but close enough to smell their aftershave – Harry crouched there, waiting to see if they would stay put or make rounds. There could be one security team doing double work – or two well rested teams doing their fair share of the work. With luck, and lack of "legal" funding – hopefully they cut their losses and had stationary guards relaying on the terrain to keep those caught unaware away.

Harry sat there long enough for his ass to get cold – though Remy and Sabertooth knew he had magic, it would do no good to swing around to their side ( no matter that was where he wanted to be) too early for them to have taken care of their guards. He wondered if he should kill them – or knock them unconscious – it might be kinder to kill outright, for the cold would claim them slowly, and if they survived they would lose fingers or toes – or perhaps a limb.

Harry flinched then, for all of a sudden he had heard something crackle and explode. Radios cackled to life, "alive" and "caught mutant" was partly overheard. It was too late to get rid of his guards, they would be missed. More important to him, Remy had set something to charge, moving silently, Harry approached where he had heard Remy. In the distance – he had let his guards live in favor of getting to his teammates side swifter - there was nothing. No tracks in the snow, nothing that showed a sign of being charged kinetically.

He had the sense of a trap, the awareness that something had gone wrong – before he heard the crack of a branch from a shift in weight, heard the soft " _phtpmt_ " of a silencer, he couldn't move quick enough. He was hit in the neck, had time to touch the little glass and metal dart, felt the slickness of blood, before he felt snow and wondered how he had gotten to the ground without noticing.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"You alright?" It wasn't a voice Harry recognized that spoke gruffly – a near growl – next to him. He got the sense that the man – for it was masculine – was more then a little pissed off, though if it was because of Harry, or something else. Harry couldn't say. He only made something that sounded like an affirmative. He hoped.

"So how'd the likes of you get caught in this mess? You live in these mountains or somethin'?" Harry shook his head in a 'no', even though the gesture made him faintly sick. He hoped he hadn't puked, but his senses were blurred and he couldn't focus. He wouldn't be surprised if he had and didn't remember.

"No, trap – was planned. Remy?" Harry blinked; half hoping Remy or Sabertooth would be near by. Would hear him, would understand that he needed someone to remember and speak for him, because bit by bit he was coming back to himself – but it wasn't quick enough, wasn't nearly enough.

"Remy here too, huh…? I'd guess as much, we've never met, Cat, but I'm a friend of Remy. My name is Logan, you can call me Wolverine." Harry managed to get a look at the man who claimed to be a friend. He had less muscle mass then Sabertooth, was shorter too, but somehow where Sabertooth was uncontrolled danger and hard to predict, this man was instead steady – someone he could count on.

He was also half dressed with only something like pale blue boxers on. Harry got the sense that they didn't belong to Wolverine, though, because Harry was wearing a pair of the same shade that he didn't remember putting on the other day.

"Harry." He grunted the word, hoping it wasn't half as garbled as it sounded to his own ears. Wolverine laughed, it didn't hurt to hear that – though Harry was sure that if he heard something other then a low voice and rumbling laugh, he'd be screaming – if not outright crying for mercy.

"Yeah, I guess I am…" Logan muttered with a chuckle, his fingers twitched, like Harry remembered seeing someone do when they craved a cigar. He was a smoker, despite how healthy he was (and Harry was very well aware of how healthy that was, seeing as they weren't dressed overmuch) it was odd, because it somehow suited Logan.

"No, _I'm_ Harry." He insisted, wanting more then anything to be understood, even if it was by a stranger. Maybe this man was the one they'd been sent after, if so the mission was half over. He only had to get them out. Harry muddled though his magic, and willed to be taken away, with Logan – with anyone that might be missed – and then he choked. He couldn't breathe, his skin was sticky with sweat and maybe blood. He couldn't touch his magic, and didn't bother to call it back when it stirred but did not reach for him as he had willed. Something was wrong.

"Take it easy, they've got something – new tech, I think – that stops our very cells from doing what came naturally before." There was anger in his voice, and Harry felt himself echo it. It became bitter, when he remembered that magic may as well be a mutation – and the magical world had thought itself safe from 'muggles' and mutants both. If they had the sort of technology Logan claimed, if this was a result of machines, and not of his own doing -or an aftereffect of the drugs- well, safe was a relative term.

It was almost enough to make him laugh, albeit, with hysteria. Next to him, Logan took a deep breath, snarling in the next moment. Harry learned why quick enough. In front of him was someone all too fond of white, they stood as proud as a pureblood would, in a white lab coat. Harry thought a black cloak and a white mask might have suited him better.

"Well, well, now that you've had a chance to meet, its time to have some _fun_. Or, rather, fun _for me_ , I'm afraid it might be somewhat… _painful_ , for you." Logan growled, and lunged forward, he need not have bothered, the man did not so much as flinch neither the bars did not so much a lean. Still, it was an intimating sight. White coat only smirked, it was sadist – Harry had a feeling things, as bad as they were before, were about to get _worse_. A needle the height of a forearm only reinforced the thought.


	12. Creatures-Of-Magic-May-Be-Flying-By

"You're sure this is the place?" A soft voice whispered above the wind, to either side of her wings rose and fell with silent grace. There was little sound; anything that might have escaped was muffled in the rolling fog that swirled about them. If anything, the weather only aided them, for they did not need to see to know where they were going.

"Yes, little witch, we are quite sure. We will wait for your signal to appear." There was a feeling of going downward, though the only truth was that when they landed she no longer felt the muscular torso tense and relax with the rhythm of wing beats.

Arms unwound from behind her as she felt the weight of the silent being that had road with her slip to the ground at a crouch. Wary eyes took in the sight of the land, a tongue wetted plump lips, but Hermione only relaxed fully when the slender woman straitened, presenting a hand to her to ease her own way off.

"Take care, the air is wary." Those hoarse words would not have made since to someone who did not know the truth of what the fair skinned woman was in truth, a wisps of hair fluttered, caught by the wind, which seemed to play with the strands. Rather then be annoyed at the little air mischief makers, she was amused. It was the first time Hermione had seen her smile.

"I will be careful, but your sure Harry is here?" Hermione twisted her hands nervously together, only then looking to the lighted cabins, clustered together. It did not seem like such a nice place. The great head of a serpent rose to take in the sight, nostrils inhaled the moist air, and then a great silvery eye that reflected her and the mist that hung about looked at her.

"He was - if he is not anymore, he will be again." Hermione gave him a small smile, for he had been kind to her – riding over the air gently and taking care not to jar her. The woman, lovely and strange in her own way, patted Hermione's arm gently – as if to offer comfort, even as her scantly clad body pressed against hers offering warmth in touch, before she skittishly clambered up on the winged serpent like a child.

"Thank you both!" Hermione cried out, waving as they climbed into the air easily – as if tossed, she only knew that they had heard her when the cry of the woman echoed back to her, howling through the sky like the wind, a true banshees scream of delight. There would likely be battle, she had every right to be eager for what her kind and the winged snakes had often hungered for.

In the old tales of fairy that she had read as a child, forgotten mostly by wizards and witches – but never by mortals – there had been the legends of the fabled Wild Hunt, a whisper of the ancient fear of the dark. She had rode on the backs of the last ruminates of the ruined Wild Hunt; she would not soon forget that Harry had been trained in "the art of war" with them.

For their kind, it truly was an art.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry had never had a phobia before. Oh, sure, he was afraid of a few things. Yet, until now, there had been nothing as bad that he froze with a memory from it. He'd known before he was caged and put on display for a sadist scientist, but, he could have counted – if he so desired – the number of times he had ever been injected by a needle, or had had some blood taken. It had been a very nice nonexistent number.

He imagined by the time he left this third-step-to-hell known as "torturing 101" he wouldn't be able to keep count of how many times he had seen a needle, let alone have it dig beneath his skin sniffing for a vain. He hated the doctors, but he hated them at least in a way he could understand. Harry would kill them if he was given half a chance. It was what they used so casually that gave him chills.

In some part of his mind he couldn't dismiss that it was the doctors that had him captive, but the needles that tortured him. With that glimpse of a cylinder tube with its hollow needle sharp end, came the chills, his skin pricking up as if he was suddenly cold, then he'd feel sick and oddly weak, then his chest got tight. Only about then had he realized that he was panicking, that he was past reason and logic or attacking and defending. He only wanted to get away.

He only wanted to be left alone.

It would have been too easy if that had been all it took. They didn't give him a choice in the matter; instead gas rolled out of the vents, the last thing Harry saw was the white coats smug smirk.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Logan woke to his headache –as if something was clawing its way out of his head, and words the tugged him to consciousness. He had never been let awake before when they took them from the cages to do their tests. He knew he wasn't supposed to be awake when he saw the pitiful restraints they'd put on him as a precaution.

"It's all very… interesting..." A voice Logan hadn't heard before mused. It worried him, that he did not know how many people were responsible for his capture. He didn't like it. Not knowing how many he might have to deal with to drag his sorry ass out of this mess if there were too many. He couldn't count on help. He didn't know where he was. If he ran, guilt would eat at him if he didn't take the kid they'd thrown in with him.

"What is?" This voice, at least, was somewhat familiar – and loathed. It was the man who taunted him. Who's mocking and sarcastic ways grated on Logan as if the words warped past flesh and blood to clash against the metal frame work of his body; it was a voice well hated - one which he would never forget.

"The boys blood, like nothing I've ever seen…" There was a sick awe to be heard, as if the man couldn't wait to scrape off the flesh and well up the blood, likely he wouldn't be content with even that. He'd be the sort to want to know the how and whys. He'd cut up a living screaming thing, if only to see how it breathed. He wanted to do that to a kid. Logan thought he might be sick.

"He's only a mutant." Lectured the man, hissing the words, he had heard the hint of awe. That bit of curiosity. Logan for the first time was grateful to his tormenter; he was a possessive a-rate asshole – who, though he didn't know it – might save them with his ill tempered and clinging ways. If all Logan had to put up with were prissy comments and threats, well, he thought he and the boy might survive this without a scalping or unnecessary surgery or two.

"I don't think that is all he is – or all he could be." The other argued he hushed the room; no one spoke as the mulled over the possibilities. Logan wanted to pummel the kid. It hinged now on their regular captor; goading them on like this. Logan didn't know why he wanted to protect the boy – he didn't even know him, really, but there was something Logan felt was familiar.

He'd gotten a familiar scent off the boy – he hadn't had time to place it before their tormenter had strutted in. He had smelt like a cat, sunlight and grass – but there had been something of the night as well, natural like. It was a strange scent to be sure. He could understand the uniqueness of the kid, if it came down only to that bare fact. It didn't of course; there was something else to him. Something…

"Quit your yammering… there is still work to be done." Snarled the tormenter; funny, really, that Logan didn't know his name – didn't know any of their names, but would know their scent in his sleep. That bit of personal scent would be their deaths if they came close again while he wasn't drugged up to his eyeballs with his sense of smell acting as if it could be in fifty different places as once. Confusing drugs, these new ones, still, that scent off the boy tugged at him…he knew it. Knew it like he knew the mansion, like little Rogue who'd gone off with Pyro when the Swamp Rat…!

Remy! The boy knew Remy! He'd bet that this was the boy Remy had been crushin' on, bet it with his smokes and his beer. What, though, was he doing out here? Remy wouldn't have let him wander about all alone; he'd fight for that kid. That meant one of two things – Remy was here, or Remy was…was getting help. Maybe. Could be a false hope, but it was, at least – hope. There was a reason to fight the drugs and these dicks after all. A damned good one, too – even if it was for Remy...

"Sir, I think this one is waking up…!" Logan could have cursed himself; he heard the nervous one that smelt of sweat and too much junk food. Like a nervous little rat. There was no use hiding that he was awake now, he opened his eyes – and wished he hadn't. He had wondered why they'd been leaving him alone – he had an answer now.

Remy, they had tubes and shit hooked up to the kid, laid him out like a damned lap rat – arms and legs spread away from his torso, only a shitty little pair of blue boxers that Logan knew Remy would never ware of his own free will.

They'd stripped him, only to dress him up again. At least they had that much decency. They had cut his chest open, like he was dead. Logan worried for a moment, then, that maybe they had killed Remy. He held his breath then, only letting it out slow like when Logan saw Remy take a breath; shuddering like it hurt as he did so.

"Can't have that, can we Wolverine?" Purred the sadistic asshole, pleased like, as if he had planned to bring Logan's hopes up like this then rip them down- to give him that much credit, well, Logan couldn't do that. It couldn't be true that he'd been manipulated like that. Only Jean and the Professor could scrap a little at his surface thoughts, the rest was buried; for sure no tweedy scientist could do something like that.

"Sick fuck…." Logan growled, showing his teeth in a manner that was less then friendly. Logan saw the rage in those cold eyes creep up, like ice frosting on the window. There was no fire in this man, only the slow sort of rage that rotted inside as easily as it lashed outward. There was no escaping death in those eyes, you could only hope to outlive him – and then you might stand a chance.

"We'll see who will be fucking what, soon enough…." Hissed the man, his cold eyes narrowing in deep loathing, he apparently didn't like being called names. Bad luck, that, given that his chosen career was as an inflictor of pain.

Then he moved, fingers tapping against a glass tube, the movement on purpose. The liquid like substance within – it was familiar – it had been created in the last lab Logan had spent a few unwilling weeks in. It looked like amber piss. It wasn't though; it would smell like burnt sulfur.

It was made special for him too, made because of a sick curiosity of _how_ similar animals were to animal like mutations. They'd got an answer, though Logan would do anything to have resisted.

It stole control, made him want things he didn't often desire with just anyone. It would make him want to fuck, just as the asshole had said. There was a movement, he took it in – they were injecting him with a sleeping agent – but not before they let him see the tube connected to the line that would pour the shit into his blood and flesh. He felt sick.

He was being used so these sick fucks could get their jollies on, and compare notes about "sub-mutant animal mating habits" – fuck, he almost wished they'd killed the kid…

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Sabertooth left bloody treks in the snow. He couldn't slow down though – couldn't even cover them up – he had to get to the camp and tell Megaton it'd all gone so damned wrong that he was lucky to be alive. He wouldn't be, he knew, if they had thought they hadn't killed him with a shot. He'd be a lab rat just like Remy and Harry, that wasn't the sort of fate Sabertooth would wish on even the worst of his enemies.

As it was, he was having doubts to his own survival. It was bloody cold, and that was the problem – his blood, warm and free flowing, and the icy cold of the snowy mountains. It would be better the sooner he got down to the valley. He had to keep telling himself that, or else he might stop – might give up and lay down to rest.

It was the sort of rest you didn't get up from, Sabortooth knew that damned well – it was what kept him going. Kept him walking, one step at a time – if he stumbled and fell – he had to get back up. He always said he was a survivor. Always said he'd outlive that damned Logan; couldn't do that if he was in the grave.

His feet dragged, his breathing was hard. It hurt. Like little pricks of ice was digging up viciously under his flesh, chilling the blood and cutting him up inside as he walked and his heart pounded – what kept him alive was killing him that was one of the harsher ironies. He'd freeze to death soon; he was dying as he walked, a little at a time. Logan, that ass, could survive this. He'd come back from it even if it took till the world thawed as the sky turned hellish red with a dying sun.

That anger helped. He had a goal. He could reach it. He would. There was no choice – no middle ground. He had to live. Had to survive, just till he reached the valley where the cabins were. Just till he could call Magneto, tell him that something big had gone wrong. Somehow, his plans had unraveled – that didn't happen by chance – someone had spilled. Someone had wanted Magneto handicapped.

There was a traitor in the ranks; someone other then the kids who hadn't known shit until they came here. It was something almost unthinkable, but it had happened – had been _planned_. He had to live – if only to get revenge.

He only wished who could have done it, could have hunted that rat down and ripped the flesh away by bits – just as the lab boys were doing to the people _he_ had been responsible for even now – dying slower then Sabertooth. That was no way to go. He had to live, if only to get help.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Someone dies beneath our wings; his mind is bloody for revenge – survival – the hunt." A voice that echoed in the bones mused then, it would have terrified a lesser being, which had not grown up with voices of ancient likeness whispering lullabies and soothing hurts with bloody joy of the hunt.

She did not shiver in the cold, for to her and her companion, this was only another challenge to overcome. She should have been cold, for her clothing was sparse – only leather wrap about her chest and hips. Her companion had scales, though those were warm with an inner fire.

"He is worthy of us." She answered the not quite question, though no one would have heard it as it had been phrased. _There is one like us, do we save him_? Was its translation, though her kin and kith had learned long ago that the sky weavers did not speak nearly so simply of things…most especially not of choices.

To them – well, even she was mortal, for they had lived since times forgotten by the fairy – these were ancient gods, lessened only a little with the passing of time. How her people had gained such loyalty, they did not know – all the same they were forever grateful.

Still, it had puzzled her people, when a mortal child had come to the sky weavers and asked for training he could not likely survive. They had been dazed when the child had been taken in by their companions and treated as a lost hatchling of their own ancient nature. It had taken time, but that child had gained even her peoples trust. There was something about him that they could not deny.

Now he was lost. Now he might die. She had seen him survive too much to die so easily. Maybe it was a false feeling, but this one the sky weaver spoke of could know something – and, well, if he did not, her kin and kith would have use for him nonetheless.

"As you claim, so it shall be." She could not help but tense, hearing that voice speak after so long a silence – as if her very thoughts had been understood. She said nothing, merely tensing her thighs as she felt the dip in movement that signaled a spiral landing. They would save this one, and perhaps learn what had become of her little brother…

She was Grwy of the Wild Hunt, companion to the sky rider Wyrd. She would keep her word to the little witch, the life of her brother depended on it – she would not fail. For the wild magic the Wild Hunt sung with had its own nature – it could being back the dead, and keep them as ever living as her own people.

If it came to that, there would be no questions.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Hermione heard voices – she cling to hope, that these people would know Harry, even as she felt fear settle in her belly. There would be questions, how she had gotten here – well – not even she truly knew, save by air. She took a calming breath, reminded of the beings that lingered in the darkness around her – those of the ancient and feared Wild Hunt – teachers to Harry.

He had never really said what they were, when he came back – no one had asked. They had been magical creatures, and the magical community was ignorant enough to think he had only relearned what they already enough, arrogant enough to believe that they were more powerful then magical beings Harry had learned a few tricks from.

It tore at her that she had not thought to ask anymore then that. There had been a war, surly enough, but that was not reason to ask no questions afterward. To only accept. Hermione felt her heart shudder, and her eyes felt misty. She blinked, looking upward to the starry sky. It seemed bright – alive, as if the Wild Hunt stirred life to even things far flung.

It was time to act. She raised her hand; wand raised level to the door, and spoke but one word. It was enough.

" _Alohomora…_ "

The door flung open, the voices had ceased.


	13. Magic-Comes-Back-Thrice

"What the…!" Hermione delighted only a little in their startled expressions, even as she took in their appearances and differences with a tilted head. They were certainly an odd lot, one of them – a girl in a crimson coat – moved as if to defend them something like purple flames grew about her hands – at once Hermione knew what it was.

It was unfocused magic – this girl could use it, but it was as unpredictable as "accidental" magic. Dangerous, but easily dealt with when magic focused from a witch or wizard was used. No words would be needed for this; it was not a spell as such things were understood after all.

Hermione's wand flicked to the wall, a force that eyes could not see followed the movement though, plucking the girl from the ground and pressing her securely against the wall. Arms and fingers spread from her torso.

"Shit." A rugged youth, one that she had not focused on, spoke – it was a distraction. A boy had pulled a lighter from his pocket flicking it on before he could be stopped – partly curious at this point, Hermione only watched as his hand passed over the fire, encouraging it to bloom into a sphere, then with a forceful movement – as if the fire was reluctant to be parted from him – he flicked the ball of flame toward her.

" _Aguamenti…_ " Almost eagerly, water spurted from her wand tip, extinguishing the flames.

"Most intriguing…" Hermione complimented with a smile to the red haired boy, his hair was almost brown with streaks of red – there was no mistaking him for a Weasley, he did not even have freckles. His eyes were wide with shock, mouth parting – he seemed to realize that she had not attacked them, and was only defending herself – he wanted to call out against something, but it was too late.

The rugged youth had reached out his hand, eyes rolling back in his head as the ground shook. Hermione realized only then how much she had missed surprising those around her, engaging in "adventure". Though this "adventure" was not led by Harry – he was at the heart of it.

" _Levicorpus…_ that will do, I do not think you can use that talent when you are not connected to the earth…though it is strange…" A light had burst and faded, and only then did they see Lance hanging from his feet up in the air. It had been the right move – as the ground had ceased buckling and its attempts at twisting.

"What is?" And older gentlemen, likely the oldest in the room, asked then. Hermione turned her attention to him, frowning only a little with a thought though she was focused.

"When you use something you are born with, it does not cause pain – it can be controlled. That is the point of evolution, it would serve little reason for it to harm when it is supposed to aid in survival. When there is time, it would interest me to learn why…" Hermione explained, relieved when the man nodded thoughtfully, proving he was an intellect on some level.

"It isn't natural?" The younger ones looked between the elder man and herself, as if conflicted to what to do. It was clear he was thought to be the leader.

"Not at all…." Hermione allowed, feeling something akin to pity to the youth – not only was he hanging by his feet, but his arms were crossed over his chest with his annoyance at being spoken about and his face was becoming quite flushed.

"We are so _dead_ …" A small crouched boy, almost reptilian looking, muttered to his larger by far companion. Unsure, another girl looked to the crimson coated one as if worried, unharmed; she rolled her eyes somewhat exasperated. Hermione had not bothered to keep her from speaking; words did little good with "accidental" magic save to give it some focus other then raw emotion. It was natural, none the less, that "accidental magic" recognizing a more focused –and therefore powerful – nature would be 'shy', like a parent catching a child with a cookie unasked for.

"Not quite." A silver haired boy promised, looking to the crimson coated girl with determination. He moved then, too fast for her to see anything but a blur. Hermione closed her eyes whispering a word focusing instead on what she had seen of his features – he was assuredly unique.

" _Petrificus Totalus."_ A screech of panicked anger from the crimson coated girl alerted her that she had indeed been successful in locking binding his movement, for he had fallen, now prone though he breathed and his eyes glared demanding into her own.

"It can be undone….I will see it reversed…please, do not be too alarmed, I do not want you to injure yourself." Hermione promised him, knowing that he was fearful of lasting damage. He only nodded, still looking shaky.

"I assume you know who I am looking for." Hermione spoke this time to the old man and the blue skinned woman with amber eyes who had watched, rather then react. These two were not surprised, though she wondered why it was, she had other concerns for the moment.

"You won't find him." Boy-hanging-by-his-angles-suspended-in-air grumbled, his mood seemed to reflect in the others, who stood taller and looked more sure, somehow empowered by his words. He reminded her of Harry. It hurt, somewhat.

"On the contrary, I _will_ , it will only be a while before I find him and collect him. Things have changed, he must know that…" Hermione mused softly, worrying for her oldest friend, movement caught her eyes and she looked to see the slim boy and his larger companion stirring, motivated somehow by the dark clothed girl.

"We won't let the likes of _you_ hurt him." The girl declared soft and threatening, slipping a glove off, it was the only bit of skin – save her face – that Hermione had had the chance to see. She was aware at once the sort of power the girl had with that glimpse.

It was the sort of power a young necromancer held, to bring life and power into themselves – and then, later, that life would spill power into the dead bringing them back – if under the power of the one that had summoned them. The girl was young though – without a family of wizards or witches, she would not know what she could do now was only the beginning. She would have control, if she learned properly. It was the teaching that was important.

Hermione knew all that, focused on that, rather then the sting of pain her words brought. She could not help but react to those words.

"Hurt _him_? I do not want to bring harm to him – he is my _brother_ in all but blood!" Hermione wailed, knowing her magic lifted her hair in reaction to her emotions – frazzled as they had been – cried out in sorrow to think that Harry had abandoned everything and not spoken of it. Magic rippled clothing, as if caught in a breeze – in the moment she would never know how terrifying the Brotherhood had found her. There was nothing less then awe in them, they had grasped that Harry had a certain power – they had thought it subtle, but this was anything but.

Still, they did not yet understand why she had reacted as she had. No one could understand that sort of pain, of denying a part of who they were, better then Hermione.

"They do not know where he is." A hand laid itself on her shoulder, and Hermione quelled her outburst, knowing that if she wanted answers she had to be calm – Harry would need her to _think_ , not merely react.

"Grwy…?" Hermione knew that no one else would have dared touch her, save for a being that could equal her magic and bring it to heel. The slender woman nodded her head, something like understanding in her gaze.

"Wyrd and I found a man, one these ones might know. He is quite…disagreeable." Eyes flinched toward the opened door, even as a serpentine head pressed through the threshold. Hermione caught sight of the oddity – gapping jaws and budging throat – almost at once. Her own eyes wend wide – she knew the winged serpent was certainly capable of killing – but swallowing a man whole, well, that was…almost sickening.

"He is alive." She murmured before anyone could speak.

Wyrd opened his mouth and seemed to gag and choke, spewing out slime covered Sabartooth, who looked most disagreeable to his treatment. No one dared snicker – or smile, for his expression was gravely serious.

"We've got problems, boss." Sabartooth stood, waving slime covered hands to shake the clinging saliva off. The older mans eyes narrowed, suspecting the news would not be good.

"Where are the others?" For the first time, the blue skinned woman spoke, and Hermione – who had thought her unable to do so – flushed.

"That's the problem – it was a fucking trap, I would have died had not this blood thirty hag and her freaky pet anaconda not decided I was worth … not eating…" That last part was almost growled though there was something like gratitude in his tone. There would be no thanks between them, no acknowledgement of debt or what was due – it was not necessary.

"I and mine go to war; we will steal back what is ours by dawns light." Wyrd, for the first time, spoke while the Brotherhood and Sabartooth could hear; there was shock – and a bit of disgust on the part of Sabartooth – so Wyrd was not interrupted. Grwy tilted her head in agreement to his words – or in farewell – even so both retreated from the wooden building that was somehow unnatural to them.

"Can they really do that?" It was the silver haired boy, who had asked, and Hermione nodded absently, knowing now that they would not attack she untangled her spells with a flick of her wand the girl with her crimson coat was released.

" _Liberacorpus…_ _Finite Incantatem."_ There was a thump as the boy who had been held upside down landed, but Hermione knew he would be alright, as would be the boy who she had put into the Body-Bind Curse.

"Fucking snake slime, bet he enjoyed that…." Sabortooth growled, gaze on the door.

"So, not to be rude – but who the hell are you?" Hermione found herself smiling; she too thought it well past time for introductions to be made.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Harry woke to golden eyes glaring down at him, there was curiosity in them, and some alarm. Harry must have made some noise – some sign of being awake, for what he understood next was that he was looking into a blue face. At first he thought, perhaps, that this was Mystique. In the next moment it was quite obvious he had been mistaken, for the slanted features and dotted blue skin showed plainly the differences.

Harry had not jerked, neither had he spoken, he felt sick.

"It is the drugs, you have wakened – but they have not faded." There was a tilted accent that Harry thought was very much like Krum. He couldn't place it otherwise and only blinked to show he understand.

"I am Kurt Wanger – you will be able to speak soon." It was a promise, and Harry was relieved to hear it.

"Where…?" It was less a word and more of a gasp, but Kurt seemed to grasp it none the less.

"I do not know where we are – but I know although I can teleport, something they have done prevents me." A tail flicked, curling and uncurling, it reminded Harry of something like a prehensile tail alike a monkey – because it seemed to have a use other then perhaps balance.

Harry tried to reach for his magic; it seemed to slip away, as if it was water. He couldn't use it – couldn't get away with the focus enough to either will a location to Apparate to, or think of a different place around him he could Disapparate from. It clanked and jumbled unpleasantly within his mind. He was trapped.

"I do not suggest you use any ability you may possess, they gave you something – an injection, besides the sleeping drugs they pore from the vents." Kurt told flatly, Harry realized only then that he remembered the labs being filled with bright light; he doubted they would have dimmed the lighting so that he could recover.

He looked about then, searching for an answer. He found one – all the shadows, from bars to chairs or desks – every one of them, stretched toward them, enfolded them in the shadows. Kurt was not surprised with this – it seemed to him something normal, something he had, in fact, done to draw the shadows to them.

"Why…" Harry's words faded a little as he sat up, his limbs numbed but mobile.

"They likely think we know each other – they wish to see us interact, sadistic – are they not?" Kurt smiled a little, Harry tried not to be disturbed by the fanged grin, and instead he smiled back. His head ached, as if he should have a wound to bleed from. There wasn't any blood.

… _blood smeared across the cage, he had tried to_ _Disapparate, his arm had gotten 'stuck' he was bleeding out, dying – there was shouting_ ….

Harry had tensed up, then blinked, for though he could have sworn it had happened – that he had smelt blood and heard his own whimpering and the jittering words of scientists; nothing had changed…only something had…

They stayed caged up until Harry lost track of him, they talked – sometimes – it seemed Harry could hear words that Kurt did not say, and the words he did say came out twice as often. He didn't tell Kurt that, though it was obvious the other thought something was wrong. Harry knew before Kurt did when the scientists poured strange smelling gas from the vents.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"You smell good." Harry blinked, somewhat startled, to hear this put so matter of fact. He felt like yawning, but he didn't know how early or late in the day it might be. Though what he woke up to was becoming sadly familiar – bright white lights and caged with someone else. The voice was, at least, one he had heard before, it was lower – somehow softer with husky undertones.

"Logan?" Harry asked dazedly, he felt movement, but strangely he realized that someone had a hold of him, he was pressed against a chest, his skin was hot and he realized only then that he –and whoever had a hold on him – was very mush without clothing. His cheeks felt as if they were burning.

"That's right, I'm sorry for this – really am, but those assholes really haven't given me much of a choice." Logan moved slightly and Harry felt his lips and nose against the sensitive flesh of his neck. Only then did he realize how vulnerable he really was.

"Wolverine…let him go…" Harry almost struggled – as it was he jerked with surprise, to hear Remy. He wanted a look at him, and Logan's grip loosened, as if he knew it. Harry had to stifle his sound of distress, Remy was slumped up against the cage bars, his chest…was a mess, and they had barely bothered with stitching him up again. Logan shifted closer to Harry, and Harry felt keenly the muscles pressed to his back, and the musky smell of smokes and drink and something far more primal besides.

"Sorry, Remy – it'd be you any other day, but even I'm not stupid enough to risk those gapping scars – I can smell your blood and meat from here. If we fucked – I don't know if I could resist tearing into you…and not in the good way." Remy smiled slightly, tired, as he tilted his neck back, flaunting his prone position. Logan swallowed clearly more tempted then he liked, and then snarled slightly, breathing in Harry's scent his lips touching his ear – making Harry squirm invitingly.

"What's wrong with you…?" Harry gasped, feeling a warm hand envelop his erection; he whimpered a little and saw the red in Remy's eyes darken.

"Have you ever seen an animal come into season to mate?" Logan growled in his ear, Harry bit his lip unable to speak, he felt overwhelmed – the heat of skin against his, the smell of another, and flickers of images that he didn't quite see- but understood all the same - that made his breath come fast and eager.

"Once…" Harry admitted, flushing – he had glimpsed the Thestrals mounting each other. It had been something he hadn't let anyone else know about.

"That's about what is happening to me, only on a whole different scale." Logan rumbled, likely scenting his arousal, Harry's hands were trapped behind him, against Logan's stomach. His fingers stretched out and clenched, even knowing he was as good as trapped didn't do any good. He felt Logan's breath hitch against his ear and realized that his fingers had scraped his length. Harry flushed, and then trembled a little when warm breath washed against his neck.

"With…with, _me_?" Harry muttered, knowing he wasn't making much sense – Logan chuckled, though it wasn't pleasant – it was somewhat bitter.

"Afraid so….sorry kid, don't have much choice in this. I'll make it quick and dirty, we don't have time for slow and easy – it'll be fun…" Logan's fingers around his shaft quickened and Harry wanted to arch and regain some of the control he had lost. Of course – he couldn't budge Logan, which was strange for he was strong though he knew he didn't look it.

"Logan…" Remy pleaded, his voice pained – Logan growled slightly as he ignored him, the fingers that had been fisting his cock moved further between his legs; fingers probing and twitching inside him. Harry closed his eyes at the sensation trying only to think of breathing.

"Not a fucking word, Swamp Rat – not one word." It was hissed against Harry's skin, then teeth bit into his shoulder and he wasn't sure if it was pain or pleasure he felt so vividly. He was aware then, when the pain twisted pleasure faded that there was more then a finger moving in him – there were two digits, pressing and tightening and stretching until Harry couldn't say a word. He was enjoying this, as brutal as it was – he found a certain about of relaxation in letting go of the control he had had all along. Of being _forced_ to give it up…

"Like that, huh?" Logan groaned against his hair, inhaling. Harry felt keenly the length of the other man pressing urgently against his lower back. He imagined he could feel it quivering with eagerness even as Harry was prepared and used to his advantage.

"Y-yes…" Harry tried to answer, somewhat shakily, as he could not think long enough before pleasure twisted and stretched him.

"Good boy…" Logan hissed the words, dirty and somehow kind, even as he moved Harry to straddle his waist, the fingers moving to his length again as Logan pressed his eager length into Harry. A little at a time until Harry was arching and panting for breath his thoughts fleeing, scattering to nothing – which brought a different sort of relief.

Harry cried out, even so, and Logan snarled something he couldn't make out – it may not have been words, for Harry had no way of knowing. No way of thinking around the shaft that slid in and out, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, but always controlled – Logan did not lack in that. As mush as Harry liked that, he wanted next time – if there was a next time with or without whatever had been done – to be under his own terms.

It was to the thought of taking Logan that he came, pressing against the solid weight at his back, encouraging – seducing – Logan howled as he came, gripping Harry's hips hard enough to leave bruises, biting into the soft flesh of his neck – Harry felt the blood rush eagerly from his flesh and into Logan's mouth. Logan, content and somewhat satisfied, lapped at it, the effects of whatever had been done to him less, but he was not disgusted – neither did he move away.

Sated as they were, they had all but forgotten Remy – until he made an eager half-groan. Devil like red on black eyes watched them lazily, fingers flexing and fisting his eager length. He did not expect relief, but they had forgotten – or, in Logan's case, hadn't known – that Harry was a wizard, he might have looked past his twenties, but age was funny when it came to magic, his body was reacting as if it was still caught in his teenage years – eagerly his shaft quivered hard though it leaked with his semen.

"Remy…" Logan rumbled the word, something like longing and awe mixed up within his tones. Unashamed, Remy arched invitingly, licking his lips, eyes caught with Logan – there was mischief there alongside his keen desire.

Harry crawled forward, and Logan let him go, drained – somewhat – and eager to see what his best friend and newly made lover would do together. Harry crawled between Remy's sprawled legs, licking cat-lick at the skin between his thighs and along his shaft, Remy made a soft sound, half gasping as Harry took all of him in his mouth.

His tongue trailed along the shaft from base to tip, sucking, unaware that heated eyes watched, unaware that his throat and chest rumbled with something alike a purr. Logan licked his lips, eyes narrowed to slits, his eyes trailed along his backside, lingering on Harry's ass. Remy saw, smirking only a little when his hand tangled into dark hair and Logan growled somewhat possessively.

Remy found his head cradled between powerful hands as his lips were pressed to Logan's own, a low growl could be heard as lips parted and tongue wrestled while teeth gnashed. Remy spread his legs wider, arching his lower back forcing Harry to take more – Remy's thigh pressed against Logan's aching groin.

Remy cried out in the kiss, going limp as he came down Harry's throat – green eyes glistened with lust as Harry slowly rose up a trail of saliva and come wetted his lips. The three kissed, Remy's hand still lingering in wild dark hair and Logan licking the taste of Remy and Harry from bruised lips. It was only then they noticed that Harry's hand rested on Remy's chest – it should have caused immense pain to have his ruined flesh so abused – but Remy was whole – unblemished by scars. Logan narrowed his eyes as he took in Harry's unsurprised expression.

"What the hell are you?" Harry found his lips tilting in a smile; as the question was more curious then accusing. Despite the words used his welcome was still obvious, nestled as he was against Remy and Logan. In that moment he felt safe, protected – though Remy had tensed with Logan's question – for he knew how Harry had struggled to keep his past a secret – only now did it seem it needed to be spilled out.

"Wizard, well - mostly." Logan had started to laugh – but cut himself off, for he was the only one.

"You're not kidding, are you?" There was some wonder in his tone, and Harry yawned, pausing only to nod before he curled his head against Remy's neck.

"He is what he claims…" Remy murmured, watching carefully for his friend's reaction.

"Huh, that is interesting…" Logan mused, only they saw that Harry cringed _before_ the alarm started blaring though the room. Though he chuckled a moment later, as if he found it funny – whatever was happening, they exchanged a look – for it seemed somehow Harry knew, for his reactions were odd.

Something like a scream of wind and a howl roared through their ears and other senses, made them uneasy and raised their hair along their necks and legs, but Harry opened his eyes then, seemingly reassured, he smiled at nothing in particular.

"Beware, mortals, my sister comes to kill you like the little pigs you are." It seemed that only just outside shots rang out and a man screamed; something unseen tore into flesh as they smelt blood and the cracking of bones.

"What's coming, Harry…?" Remy asked, even as he and Logan got slowly to their feet, as if to defend themselves.

"A Wild Hunt…" Harry purred the words, as the lights went out and his eyes – like a cats would – reflected amber light. Logan curled his hand into knuckles, a soft _snickt_ was heard as dagger-like "claws" ripped though his flesh to form weapons, and they glinted truly metallic in the dark.

The door blew inward, and though the lights had gone out they could see plainly the eerie ghost like woman who stood into the room, silver eyes fixed on Harry. She looked like death, as magic tossed about her hair and clothing – chilling the skin. Only when a soft hiss of scales gliding against stone signaled the appearance of a giant winged snake, whose tongue flicked out; it slithered into the room to the bars of the cage.

"Wyrd…" Harry had gotten up, and before either Remy or Logan could have stopped him, his hand went through the bars and touched the serpents nose. It did not attack, as they had feared – instead they saw something impossible – Harry smiled, and the serpent flicked its tongue to taste Harry.

"You've had your fun, little cousin, we must go, or the witch will bring down this mountain in her revenge." The ground shook, but neither Remy nor Logan paid it too much mind – they both stared at Wyrd, unable or unwilling to admit what they had heard with their own ears. Very faintly, the woman smiled at Harry – nodding her head to Logan and Remy her hand flinched open and the bar creaked and squealed as they were forced open by the unseen.

"It is time to go." Those were her only words, but they were quickly obeyed.

"Couldn't agree more." Logan muttered, watching with something like astonishment as the giant winged snake let Harry climb onto its back after the strange woman. Remy and Logan exchanged a long look.

"Move…" Were the snake's hissed words, with its gapping jaws, it was no wonder they both made sure that – to the annoyance of the woman – Harry sat between them. When the snake started slithering quickly – its speed allowing it to hover with tilted wings, the two ran began to accept the so-called impossible.

There was no clear memory of how they went from within the base to flying in open air – among other wing serpents and ghostly females that hovered about them, they watched the base go up in smoke, and though it stormed about them – so dark that they could have thought it night if not for the faint light of grey – the flames did not go out.

An eerie howl of victory echoed off the mountains, striking terror down into the marrow of bones. Remy and Logan shuddered, even as the woman in front of them made the same haunting cry. This was something they would remember the rest of their lives.


	14. Magic-Does-Not-Make-Thee-Right

Harry shut his eyes against the wind, as it tugged at his hair and seemed to pry at his closed lids. It was hard to think it to be day break with the sky as overcast and the wind as wild as it was, it seemed that the weather was affected by the Wild Hunt. Harry had known the Wild Hunt to be both ancient and primal in its methods, so it was just as well that the Hunt affected nature so vividly.

"What the hell is this Harry?" Logan had tried to keep his voice hushed; he likely thought that the movement of air kept his voice from being heard. Harry knew otherwise, though he knew also that he could not pretend not to have heard. Logan was, after all, right behind him, the warmth of his bare thighs and groin straddling Harry's back. He had almost forgotten they wore nothing save their own flesh, with the pleasant fire side like warmth of Wyrd's silk-like skin.

"Fundamentally, a rescue, though also…revenge." The answer came from Grwy, hearing her, Logan jerked only a little.

"This revenge…is for what?" Remy asked in undertone, making no mistake of knowing that Grwy – and Wyrd – overheard him. It was a good question, despite the obvious answer of his having been captured; Harry didn't truly know the reasoning of the Wild Hunt, it was something one did not dare often to guess at.

"Too long have the ways of the wizards and witches been against the nature of magic, they seek a leader, yet renounce those born to lead. They quarrel with all kinds and breeds, seeking domination. They have forgotten the old ways – they have forgotten the Wild Hunt. Forgotten that being gifted with magic does not mean gifted to rule." Wyrd answered this time, his voice like a howl in the wind.

"I'd _love_ to know how you know Harry." Logan murmured softly somewhat doubtful in his sarcasm – which was, indeed, a first. Harry had shivered only a little, as his words whispered against the sensitive skin of his shoulder and neck. Harry bit his lip to keep from making a sound, his eyes seeking a distraction in the changing land beneath them. He couldn't afford a distraction. Things had changed since the Wild Hunt slept, and now they had woken once more, things would change – hopefully – to how they were _supposed_ to be.

Just as the nature of the weather was reflected by nature of the Wild Hunt, so too was his own magic; buzzing in his mind filling him with potential. If he used it – if he only reached to manipulate it – he feared what he might do.

Using wild magic could kill – he would die, eventually, likely young as the wild magic flowed through him like blood, but wild magic also – its use – the feel of it, the taste of what was about him being so affected by his will, it was all too addicting.

He had known what wild magic might do to him; he had – after all – spent time among the Wild Hunt, learning to kill and control his magic that had bubbled and twisted like a spring of fresh flowing water – it had seemed to him useless to control . When Hermione had told him he could use wild magic – and was, by some twist – a mutant. He knew he would be –not _might_ be, but _would be_ -manipulated once more, it was how wizards and witches did things – though it was not _supposed_ to be that way, they could have the greatest of intentions – it would still be abuse of _his_ magic. That was if things had stayed the way they had been.

Harry had known also that among the "noise" of magic and wand waving done in magical communities would drown out the Wild Hunt's ability to find him. He had wanted to be found, and had known that –eventually – they would come to call upon him. Then he would have allies – as powerful a tool as the wild magic was, without the net of the Wild Hunt with its connected ties between banshee and sky weavers, he would be alone. It would have been very dangerous for him to be so alone without someone that knew what to watch for – the signs that wild magic tainted – and act to prevent them.

He could trust the Wild Hunt to do just that.

"He sought us out. There are ways to find us; he merely looked to find a way to kill an enemy no matter what is done in retaliation. You may imagine this challenge – brought forth by a boy – stirred the Wild Hunt to renewal." Grwy answered softly, though they could hear her well.

Harry knew that Remy and Logan only knew part of his story – they would learn more – he only hoped that until then they trusted him still. It was, he knew, a hard thing to do with the changes quickening about them.

"You mentioned a 'little witch'…?" Remy spoke thoughtfully; Grwy chuckled harshly, though it was Wyrd who answered. Harry stirred then, made curious by their amusement. It was not a good thing, though it was neither bad that they be so amused.

"Yes, one who calls herself Hermione; she sought out the star watchers with the spider kin… naturally, they called out to us." Wyrd murmured softly, Harry tensed, worried then for his friend – both Remy and Logan noticed the reaction though they were not the only ones.

"Worry not, she is well." Grwy muttered fondly to him, Harry relaxed only a little – for below them the camp came into sight; waiting for them were others who he had grown fond of, how they reacted to his return – he knew very well – might make or break him.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Well, it is about time!" Those were the first words of greeting Harry received from his best friend, followed swiftly by a fierce hug. He couldn't help the smile he was sure split his features. He hadn't realized how very much he had missed her.

"Apologizes, there was a…updraft." It was a poor excuse at best, or an outright lie, depending on how it seemed.

Wyrd had, after all, settled easily onto the ground, it had been a quiet decent, the storm winds oddly smooth. He tilted his head to the side, wise eyes on those that fidgeted a respectful distance away from the slender dragon. Grwy had settled against her partners' neck, watching those who watched them with equal parts amusement and a wary sort-of trust.

Hermione balanced easily on her toes, 'bouncing' in this way in place, grinning in a way that told Harry that for _years_ after, this was going to be brought up when Harry didn't expect it, at drunken parties, maybe. An ice breaker – if only to prove the "boy who lived to be a hero" was human too.

Logan though, made no mistake of his presence, or his feelings to those that – for the most part- surrounded them. His glare was especially dark for Sabertooth and Mystique, for he seemed to avoid Magneto's gaze all together. Remy stood, only bemused, beside Harry his red on black eyes upon Hermione; Logan had lagged a little bit behind – but both kept themselves between Harry and Grwy (who they did not seem to at all trust) with Wyrd the further back, though that –Harry well knew - would make little difference in the long run.

"Not that I'm displeased that you're here, Hermione – but _why_ are you here?" It was, after all, the thing he had been puzzled by all along. Bringer of the Wild Hunt or not, they could – he was sure – have found him all on their own. They did not need to bring Hermione to him, unless they _knew_ something he needed to. With information especially, the Wild Hunt was strange, knowing that an individual needed to find something out was – to them – far different then plainly telling what was what.

"It's all a mess, Harry – when they found out, and when you left…it…went _wrong_. If you saw it, you'd hardly recognize it I…I almost think there isn't hope…" Hermione had stilled, so suddenly he had known the moment her excitement in seeing him had passed and when something too much like fear had seeped into his dearest of friends.

"Ron's changed too, they've made muggle born and half bloods worse then second class, we are – in the eyes of the Council and Ministry, barely better then magical creatures, I think." Hermione confessed, voice barely above a hushed whisper though it did no good with those that surrounded them. Harry stood with her in that moment, not sure what to think – what to say. He had been sure that with his leaving things would cool off and calm down. It was, apparently, not to be so easy.

Grwy moved, it was only a little – hardly enough to catch attention, but he looked to her. He knew then, looking at her, that _this_ was the reason she had brought Hermione to him. So he could see the truth of what had happened with his absence. What was – apparently - _happening_ , even now…he swallowed, and it felt bitter.

"It's bad then, huh?" Harry managed to say the words, to choke them out. Hermione managed a weak smile in return. They knew how bad things had gone, while the others could only guess. It was how he preferred it, though he knew it would not remain that way. They would know, soon enough.

"Worse then either of you know." Harry was reminded then, as Grwy spoke, of earlier words. She had told him while flying, that things in the wizarding world needed to be put right. He had always known that. He had thought there would always be time. Not any more though. If the Wild Hunt had woken – not only because of him, but because of the magical community – then things would _change_. Quickly. The survivors would ensure that.

Another name for the Wild Hunt had been, in the ancient days, the "Oncoming Storm". That which could not be swayed, if they woke to set the magical world to right – then things were very bad off – worse then ever before; it might be the end of the magical community, and Harry was caught in the midst of it. He looked to Hermione, who saw something in him, for she shared a pained look with him.

"I don't get it, what the hell is going on?" Harry wondered if Lance would get his answer, or if it would sooner be showed to him.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"That's…pretty bad." It was Fred that spoke first, Harry had left them to think over what he had explained what might happen. To people he had grown up with and beside. Who he had learned to use magic with, this was something Harry cared about, that much was clear.

The Brotherhood had always been close nit – they had each other, and for so long it was all that they had needed. Harry had had a taste of being a part of a world; he had had his own notch hollowed out before he had left. Now his people needed him again. It was understandably upsetting that the ones who had taught him to protect that world might be the ones to destroy it. That too, was a part of the nature of the Wild Hunt, so far as the Brotherhood understood it.

Harry had wandered out with Hermione beside him, her arm folded in his. They looked like they belonged beside each other – though not quite as lovers, but that they were close was obvious. It partly had reminded Fred of a pack of dogs when Pyro and Lance had followed Harry out, without as much as a glance between each other. Remy had followed, as had the man – Logan – who Sabertooth had _growled_ at. Pietro had tagged along after them, looking a bit skittish – but determined – Wanda had almost seemed proud of her twin.

Magneto and Mystique had, of course, left a little after them, Sabertooth had gone with them. It left Fred with Mortimer, and the girls – Rogue and Wanda. They were Harry's friends – they belonged with the group, but they weren't as…close to Harry as the other boys were – or his scary "best friend". Still it was clear enough that the girls approved of Hermione.

"A whole community – world, rather – is about to meet the four horsemen – and all you can say is "pretty bad"…pathetic." Wanda muttered, her eyes not meeting Fred. She was clearly worried of what would become of the Brotherhood. Rogue sighed softly, attracting the attention of the other three.

"Well, it's not like we _know_ these people – what if they deserve what's coming to them? They seemed to have screwed what they had up nicely all on their own." She did not look anyone in the eyes after saying it. It was shameful, but it was something they had all thought. Was Harry's world really worth saving, after all, they had been the ones to outcast him.

"They're strangers." Fred agreed, glancing to the so far silent Mortimer for his opinion.

"Not to Harry – not to _her_ – its like, I think, something alike Armageddon for them." Mortimer's voice was hushed, haunted. Fred was reminded that the Wild Hunt would strike in Europe and though it might be accidental, there would likely be collateral damage.

"So…what do we do?" Fred asked of them, frowning then only a little when Mortimer did not have an answer. For a while they sat in silence, thoughts staying and buzzing uncertainly.

"That isn't what we should be asking." Wanda spoke then, straitening, her gaze on the doors their friends had left through only a little while ago. Fred and Mortimer glanced uncertainly to each other, only then turning to Wanda. Mortimer was only a little worried for his crush.

"What is then?" Rogue had only quirked an eyebrow, though it told Wanda more then her words did.

"What will he do…and will we follow him?" Wanda asked them, Rogue nodded slowly, knowing Wanda – for now – had the right of it. She pressed her lips together, for until now they had not thought – yet – of how to get involved with that was going to happen. They had distanced themselves – but what was _going to happen_ would affect them all.

"Of course we will…right?" Fred spoke looking first to the wiry Mortimer; he only shrugged a shoulder – seemingly relieved at Fred's words – even as if the answer was obvious. It was clear Mortimer had not been sure Fred would agree and had not wanted to go his only friend so had waited to hear what Fred would do.

"Right…." Rogue agreed then, her smile was not entirely pleasant. It promised a certain amount of danger for those that crossed her. It was a strangely comforting gesture.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Did you expect something like this, Magneto?" If one did not know to look for it, the lurking danger in Mystique's tone would not have been heard. Luckily, the three she stood with knew her very well. Sabertooth smirked only a little when Magneto raised an eyebrow at her, for she did not sound merely questioning – she sounded _accusing_.

"When I told you to take the boy in?" Magneto mused, eyes distant as he seemed to consider his own motives. He was playing though, and both knew it. Mystique pressed her lips, narrowing her eyes at the reminder that Magneto usually considered everything before doing something. He was good at chess for that reason – and he took risks others would not consider.

"Yes." Mystique did not hiss the word, but the impression of her ire was not to be easily ignored – certainly never dismissed. Magneto was not a fool, of that no one would accuse him. He did not ignore Mystique or her worries.

"No." Magneto's answer stilled them. It was somewhat shocking to hear him admit his own weakness when it came to certain knowledge. Yet he had. That above all told them how serious the situation was.

"What will you do?" Sabertooth asked boldly, and Magneto's fingers tapped a rhythm on his desk. Mystique tensed only a little. Whatever Magneto chose would change things. It was only a question of if – after this – Mystique could work with Magneto without doubting him. That was something Magneto could not afford. It was both Mystique – and to some extent – Sabertooth, knew.

"We will, for now, stand by one of our own – no matter rivalries - is that understood, Sabertooth?" A tilt of the head was all the answer that Magneto needed. It was what Mystique needed as well; to know that – for now, while it suited him – Magneto stood with her and the children. He would not give them up. They were not merely pawns to be sacrificed, as Charles' had once warned her to the nature of Magneto. It had now proved to be a lie.

"Yes sir." Sabertooth murmured with a sly smile, smelling the blood that would be spilled and revealing in it. They would stand their ground. The children, after all, had to be protected. It was the future of the Brotherhood and Magneto's mission they gambled now. There was no choice but to have victory.

"Very good – for now, we have only to wait and see." Magneto spoke, reminding both to be patient in bidding their time with preparations – but they would be ready, come what may.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"You should get some sleep." Harry looked up, unable to help showing his surprise at who had come to visit him. He had expected Remy – or perhaps Logan, or even Pyro and Lance, but not who had walked though the door. A hand moved awkwardly though the fall of silver hair. An uneasy smile crossed his lips, though his eyes were steady. Pietro had pulled off his shirt before coming into the cabin, though his boxers left little to the imagination clinging to his hips as the bit of cloth did.

"What are you doing, Pietro?" A slight pout greeted his question, though Harry found he was more amused then left feeling guilty by it. A slanting of lips showed that a goal had somehow been accomplished. Harry flushed, looking aside wondering all the while what exactly Pietro was thinking.

"Helping you sleep." Harry could not help the slight snort of amusement the others 'answer' brought.

"Somehow, I don't think _that_ is what is on your mind." Harry explained his disbelief, feeling slightly uncomfortable in his own t-shirt and low slung boxers. Pietro chuckled then, somehow sensing his unease and seeing the flush over his cheeks. _I make this too easy for him._ Harry thought, pressing his lips together. Harry did not like to be manipulated. It was something small, though it lingered all the same between them like an unpleasant aftertaste.

"Perhaps… I had something else in mind." Pietro grinned widely, hinting at things unsaid. Harry glanced upward, having mimicked the movement he saw Pyro give more then once. It was habit forming.

"I want to talk is all; seriously, I mean… do you think the others or your witchy friend would have let me wander in if I was going to ravage you?" It was part confession, though Harry could not help but notice the easy familiarity Pietro held with him. Or the fact that he was unbothered by the intimacy the lack of clothing provided, which was – for him – more then a little distracting.

"What do you want then?" Harry asked of him, ignoring for the moment Pietro's other question.

"The others are worried, you know? They think they've made you think they didn't enjoy _it_. Or that _it_ was some warped rape. Or that you think their jealous of each other and won't touch them – which, I have to say, I'm surprised their taking the multiple lovers thing alright. You know what they say about too many alphas, well, maybe you don't…" Pietro trailed off, somewhat awkwardly seeing that Harry had closed off his expression.

"Who…?" Harry didn't finish his sentence, he didn't need to.

"Remy asked me to look in on you, which I don't mind, you're a stand up guy – really can't blame you for the sex either." Pietro remembered what Harry had done on the obstacle challenge from hell.

"You and Remy…?" Harry had flushed, not looking Pietro in the eye as he spoke.

"Yeah, but it was never anything, you know …so, no hard feelings, eh?" Pietro rambled, flushed, for talking about Remy and he hadn't been the reason he'd gone and spoken with Harry.

"Yeah…" Harry mumbled weakly.

"Can I ask you something?" Wary, Harry nodded, Pietro grinned, and though Harry thought he meant to be reassuring there was some mischief in Pietro.

"Why haven't I gotten even a kiss?" Pietro tilted his head to the side, smirking.

"You…I…" Harry couldn't be blamed for being taken by surprise by Pietro's words, his eyes wide.

"Yeah?" Pietro leaned in close, their breath mingling – close enough to brush lips if one of them moved only slightly.

"Aw, screw it." Harry blurted out, bringing his hand to the back of Pietro's head and pulling him in for a rough kiss.

They saw more then stars.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Men cloaked in black stood to either side, his hands were chained – so too were his feet and tail for they had learned that lesson early. They whispered of his strangeness. Of the danger of mutants, they had bled him until blue fur was coated in dried blood. They did not use weapons to hurt him, but strange sticks that sputtered to life with a word and colored lights.

With ginger hair, one of his captures – pale skin fevered and freckled - leaned in close to look at his eyes. His bland expression shifted, becoming menacing.

"Harry…we've got one of your precious mutants, come collect him or his blood is on your hands."

 _Ron_ …


	15. Mutants-Alone-Can-Not-Make-It-Right

Men cloaked in black stood to either side, his hands were chained – so too were his feet and tail for they had learned that lesson early. They whispered of his strangeness. Of the danger of mutants, they had bled him until blue fur was coated in dried blood. They did not use weapons to hurt him, but strange sticks that sputtered to life with a word and colored lights.

With ginger hair, one of his captures – pale skin fevered and freckled - leaned in close to look at his eyes. His bland expression shifted, becoming menacing.

"Harry…we've got one of your precious mutants, come collect him or his blood is on your hands."

 _Ron_ …

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

… _bump-bah-bump…_

"Harry…?"

It hurt. _He_ hurt. It was a tight, clenching pain about his chest. He was vaguely surprised he could still breathe, that his heart still beat. He felt numb, everything but the vision of blood splattered fur and red hair and blue eyes glaring at him hatefully was dim; distorted.

"Harry… _what_ – who - _was_ that?"

Harry took a breath, then another. He found a lie at the tip of his tongue. It should not have been so easy.

"I'm not sure I know." There was a furious disbelief in Pietro. He was bewildered, frightened. He had wanted only a kiss. Neither of them had expected… _this_.

"He…he called you by name. There was blood. How can you _not know_?" Harry hunched in his shoulders, cringing. He knew his words had been flaky at best. He did not blame Pietro for his disbelief. He wondered if the silver haired boy had lost trust in him completely. Harry could find no resentment if he had. This vision proved his worst fear, anyone who had contract with him – they were all in danger.

Harry could not protect them.

"I…I just…" Harry found the words did not come, his gaze to his hands, clenched tight and white knuckled, pale nailed. Weak hands. He felt Pietro touch his shoulder, it was meant to be reassuring, though there was a hesitance that Pietro could not have hidden in his movement.

"Harry…Harry, I…I'm sorry, Harry." He felt like a traitor to Pietro as he moved into the other boys proximity, leaning on his solid warmth – it was a comfort he did not deserve. Pietro welcomed him, holding him – murmuring soft meaningless reassurances. Harry closed his eyes, and wished – heart aching as he did - that Pietro would sleep dreamlessly. It was Harry's turn to hold Pietro as the other boy slumped – crumpling, his body unresisting to the pull of gravity.

Harry knew he had to fix this. He had to make things right.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Looking nothing like a hero bringing down the might of an army upon his enemies, and more like a furious school-boy, with ruffled black hair. Harry Potter strode through the camp (although he did make use of the less obvious paths and stayed out of sight of the windows and doors) his path not deterring toward the grove of trees at the outskirts.

Logan closed his eyes, yet what he was seeing did not change. It had been a half hearted wish, but concerning wizards and witches, he had his suspicions on how the nature of wishes affected them. Still, it did not change facts. Harry was running away. After all that Logan had been through with Harry, his first thought was not to cowardice. No, he knew better. His first thought was to what Harry was running _to_.

It was not too far of a leap in logic.

With all the talk of witches and wizards, and their world being brought to ashes by folk like Grwy and Wyrd…Logan stifled a groan under his breath. He should have _guessed_ Harry would do something like this, if only to be difficult. Yet he could not waste this chance, Harry was leaving – and while he might be mad enough to continue all the way on foot, Logan dared not risk getting someone and lose sight of Harry. Not that he was entirely sure that wizards – or witches, for that matter - just weren't _naturally_ prone to these sorts of "accidents". It might explain a few things if that were just how things _were_. Like why such powerful beings weren't already ruling the world rather then sitting veiled in magic and the mysticism of myth.

It was enough to intimidate even Logan, yet still, he know better then to think that he could reason Harry out of whatever temper he had taken it into his head to act upon. When furious, Logan knew better then most that _everything_ seemed to make sense. Harry wasn't the sort who could be talked out of _that_ sort of frame of mind.

Logan had heard Hermione telling the others of how their world had abandoned Harry upon finding he was a mutant, plotting what to do with him behind his back. It was enough to make anyone sympathize. What had really likely thrown Harry was Ron. Even with Hermione, his wife, he had let the Ministry and its Council bully without a struggle. From what Logan understood, Ron was on the Council – as had Harry – so maybe the plotting had only been to remove him. Logan doubted it.

From what the magical world had done afterwards, and from what they faced now. He really doubted they didn't deserve everything they got. Fat lot of good they had ever done anyone. Logan most of all could understand – hell, even sympathize with Harry to the point of feeling the tug of rage in his throat. The urge to snarl was strong. He throttled it; he was determined not to be discovered – even as he followed Harry. Who was not, by any length, in the right frame of mind to be concerned about those who might be following him….it likely did not even occur to him.

Follow, like Logan was. It proved a point to Logan, that even with magic and whatever mutant senses that Harry still had were being ignored - the kid needed looking after.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Neither wizard-mutant or mutant were aware that large serpentine eyes followed their movements, with a flick of a tongue Wyrd tasted the scents upon the air – then the gaze shifted to the slender shadow that watched beside. A wary sort of smile crossed Grwy's lips, but she made no move to go after either. Instead she turned back to the camp, knowing that they would need a cool head in what was to come.

A snap of a twig – purposefully trod upon – alerted Wanda to being watched. With her hands clenched into fists at her side, and her gaze narrowed on Grwy she watched the others approach. She stood, tense, waiting for the other to speak. Instead, growing impatient, Wanda spoke first.

"Well? What do you want…? Do you have something to say to me?" Judging by the wry look Grwy tossed her way, her reaction had been expected. Wanda grits her teeth, grinding them only a little - determined not to snap at the unnerving woman. She remembered well her first glimpse of the woman and the serpent-dragon; it was not something she would soon forget.

"Mere proposition, it is time for you to understand, we have use of you." It was in a matter-of-fact tone, almost monotone. Yet there was wickedness in her eyes, or a tilt to brow, or how she stood, that belied mere words. Something was happening, and Wanda did not know what. It was more then a little disturbing.

"Do you now?" Wanda was aware then that she was not alone with Grwy. She did not look up, even though a large shadow had passed overhead. There was more then one of those serpent-dragons swarming about in the stormy grey-black skies. For all that is was supposed to be day, there was a chill that clung to that reminded them all that the Wild Hunt was renowned for being feared in the time between twilight and dusk. Something about them leant an otherness to the day, so that it was as if it were night instead.

"Oh yes, we are not what we were. We are in ruin, near forgotten, fragments of the past. Our art is near lost. Yet, with what is coming, there is hope for us yet." Grwy's eyes were far away, as if she were old enough to remember the Wild Hunt at its peek and pride. Perhaps she did, for some reason that thought did not disturb Wanda as much as she thought it ought to.

"I do not understand." She hated to admit it, as if it was a weakness that the vague words of the wild-woman did not really mean anything to her. For a moment, Grwy looked as if she understood that what she was saying was not sinking in. Her next words sure enough laid it out.

"I am asking you to join us, to fly." Grwy gestured to the sky above them, and Wanda was never more aware of the serpent-dragons then in that moment. The very air seemed to hum, waiting for a response.

"Ah, shite, ye be kidding meh." Her accent thick, Rogue stepped from where she had lingered. She had not meant to overhear, still, the pronouncement had shaken her. Wanda turned her head sharply to take in the sight of the other mutant, and then looked quickly back to Grwy who did not seemed very surprised at being overheard.

"I am not, if you both will follow me, I will show you how very serious we are." As if that settled the matter, Grwy lifted her arm in time to prevent dust from entering her eyes. It also made a very impressive entrance for Wyrd. With dignity, she climbed atop the serpent, settling between its spines. Glancing between each other, Wanda and Rogue followed, even as they scrambled after, for the first time giving thought to wonder if the silken-like spines were poisonous. There was a jolt of movement and motion, and it was too late to second-guess, they were airborne – and moving quickly into the shifting clouds above.

Still aloft, Wyrd paused above the cloud line; silver fluff seemed to stretch on forever below them – and above them the heat and brightness never seemed to end. Yet it was what was in front of them that left them breathless. In flashes of crimson and black, two serpent-dragon beasts fought, snapping dangerous teeth at tender hide, and for the first time they gave thought to if the silken spines along the serpent backs were poisonous – whatever the case, they certainly were being used as a weapon.

"What…what are they doing?" Wanda watched them, unable to look away – she blinked her eyes, not aware that she was crying. It did not seem right that they behaved like animals –mere savage beasts – Wyrd was proof that they could be so much more.

"Practicing the Art….they are no more then thralls of the Wild Hunt, once they had a awareness, yet it was lost when their riders fell." For the first time there was a thickness in Grwy's voice, as if she was sick. Yet she eyes remained on the dueling serpents, as if as sickening as it was, she could not look away. It was obvious to her what it meant, that this was one more proof of the ruin the Wild Hunt was falling.

"War. Ah don't understand, why bring us here?" Rogue asked respectfully, keeping her voice soft.

"Do you not see? If you gain their rapport, they will seek to save you." Grwy stated matter of fact, undeterred in her nature – it seemed as if she made her words unavoidable.

"Save…us?" Rogue asked haltingly, swallowing as an odd feeling crept into her head. It as if she had not realized until then how very natural it felt to be aloft, astride one of the sky serpents. Now she did, and it was very strange to realize she felt so out of sorts.

"Why would we need saving?" There was a catch in Wanda's throat, as if she had already figured it out but did not quite believe Grwy or Wyrd would do such a thing. Wyrd seemed to shiver, shuddering as if in laughter. It was suddenly very hard to hold on. The silky feeling spines were hard to grip. It struck Wanda at how reckless Wyrd was flying, as if what ever let them fly was failing.

Faltering.

"Stop this…! Are you mad…?" Wyrd twisted about midair, and Wanda felt dizzy as she was turned about around-and-around as if a bit of clothes in a laundry machine. Rogue lost her grip first, shrieking, falling though the billowing whiteness that Wanda knew sickeningly were only clouds and not at all as solid as they looked.

Wanda saw the blur of black and red serpents pause, just as she lost her grip and fell – though not before seeing Grwy's eerie smile and vowing vengeance if she lived through this. Wanda was determined not to die with her eyes closed – but that did not mean she meant to see the ground below approaching too quickly for her tastes. In a small part of her mind, she thought she was falling forever – why didn't she pass out into blackness and die? Not that she wanted to die.

No, she wanted to _live_.

As if the thought had summoned them, she saw them - twining about each other like a top too quick to see the details but enough to notice the colors whipping about in the otherwise colorless sky. As they dived, falling, it struck her that they might have mortally wounded each other and were dying – falling just as she and Rogue were.

Then the crimson serpent shrieked upon setting sights upon Wanda – it was joyful and wild and it was all for the setting sight on her. Wanda felt as if her heart might burst, yet somehow her chest was expanding and she could absorb all that _feeling_. Breathless, Wanda saw among all that crimson the black eyes that gently ensured that Wanda was set upon the sky serpents back.

She wasn't falling, she was flying.

She glimpsed the black sky serpent still diving, and even though she did not quite know how she did it, her own sky serpent followed it. She saw it (though Rogue did not, falling face-first, braver then Wanda had been) as the black serpent flung itself last minute between Rogue and the ground, lifting skyward triumphantly.

Another cry came, this one was from somewhere else – a cry to gather, a cry for blood. It was answered.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It ran amuck in his mind, around and around…he seemed not able to think beyond it…." _See – I told you, he has become a mutant monster!" Ron called from the back, his eyes wild, Harry found himself curling his lip in a sneer_ …. Those words, spoken from his best friend's lips – _that_ had driven him over the edge. That had given him fury to denounce the magical world.

He had not regretted it, till now.

It was not Ron he faced.

Harry had known he would be expected – he had been called here by a vision of Nightcrawler. Or rather, he had been Nightcrawler – tortured, chained, and knowing he was without hope. Someone had spoken to Nightcrawler, yet not – they had addressed Harry, calling him out, summoning him. It had amused Harry, they thought him not a wizard, yet were sure that he had enough magic and enough of wild magic to be _summoned_. Then he had become even more enraged, he came to them of his own choice, not because of a spell.

Still, he was not without senses, he had _intended_ on getting Nightcrawler to safety (or at the very least, freed) before facing Ron and whoever had gone along with this. Harry had intended to speak to them, to rave, to yell until they listened and heard how crazed they had become – perhaps then they would regret it, would retreat, or at least attack him face-to-face, anything at this point was better then the prolonged hide-and-seek "game" Harry had been enduring all the while among the mutants and muggles.

He had grown tired of it. He wanted an end to it. Come what may, he had determined, it would end here-and-now.

That had been when he thought he knew who he faced – now, now…he did not know what to think. It was the most dangerous position, for he had been utterly caught off guard, his rage derailed like a doomed train crashing into inevitability.

"Surprised, Harry…?" The words were drawled out, sick amusement thick on them. No one would need a spell, Harry stood frozen, his mind working furiously to come to grips with what he saw, with what he was hearing.

"So am I… that it would be so easy…I should have done this long ago, do you not agree?" He faced only one wizard, yet beyond him others – unneeded – had gathered, smirking and snickering among one another. Harry did not recognize their faces. He suspected their features had been shifted, altered with wand and potion alike. It might be impossible to later tell who had stood among them. It was just as well, Harry did not pay them any attention. His eyes focused, catlike, on the one who had spoken to him.

"Percy…I do not understand." He could almost suspect this all a trap, but it was all too surreal to be that. Percy was gloating, smiling at him almost comfortingly in the sight of his utter confusion. It was eerie. There was no rush here.

"Poor, poor, Harry Potter, I will explain. Ron came to the Council, delighted that his _freak_ of a friend would be something so _exotic_ as a mutant…a wild-magic user, we really can't afford the risk, Harry, I am sure you will come to understand…so, I used the Imperius curse on my own little brother, it was not as hard as I would have imagined. I expected more from him, hanging about as he did with you in your school days; I suspect it was too much to hope for to think it would rub off on him." Despite that he flinched upon hearing the term "freak" which had fallen all too often in his youth from his aunt, uncle, and cousins lips so as to become a twisted curse and almost-name… Harry still noticed the regret Percy spoke of in his last words. As if the lack was a disappointment to him, related as he was to the target.

"Then what I saw…" Harry swallowed his throat dry, even as he spoke he was remembering… " _See – I told you, he has become a mutant monster!" Ron_ (not Ron…?) _called from the back, his eyes wild, Harry found himself curling his lip in a sneer…_ had it all this been his failing? His fault that the magical world had fallen to such disarray that the Wild Hunt woke to bring it to rights…it ached within his heart, that thought, as if Percy had stuffed a knife in his gut and was discovering how to twist it. He might have well have.

Harry did not know why Percy was betraying him, he remembered how Ron had come to hate the mention of Percy, had called him traitor and worse, but as it had never affected Harry (it had been something Ron had dealt with, something about "keeping it in the family") even though he had thought himself as a adopted brother to Rom…still, he had never guessed that Percy would do something like this. He had thought it only that Percy hadn't wanted his family hurt, and had tried to protect them by turning against Harry. Or it had been out of a desire to fear no retributions from the Dark Lord while starting his own family with his own ties to the Light.

He had never thought it might come to _this_. He and Percy had never been very close, yet Harry had never suspected…

"Your sight has never been very good; I suspect at a distance, for the first time…one furious red head looks much the same as another." Spoken so coldly, so matter-of-fact, with a hint of mocking, Harry shook his head, remembering Hermione – Ron was her husband, surely she would have noticed…

"Hermione…." Harry knew he was grasping at straws. Yet there had to be some reason – something being overlooked.

"I kept him under the Imperius curse, Harry that is all…" Percy _tsked_ , clicking his tongue as if he were a professor disappointed in a favored pupil. Harry felt his fury tug low in his throat, he growled – low, animalistic. Percy looked pleased. It washed over Harry, then, as if ice had been growing along his spine. Hermione had been as quick to temper as Ron – even more so then Harry if tempted – if she had been angry on behalf of Harry, she would not have thought much of Ron, she would have been off balanced and furious enough not to notice if Ron's actions were cold, at a distance, or even less like himself.

"How long…?" Harry felt the chill along his spine touch his heart; they had all been so blinded, played on their emotions like children. If something happened to Ron, if Harry lost his best friend…he did not think he could ever forgive himself.

"Long enough that he began to work back to being himself, though not quite quick enough, Hermione ran off into the Forbidden Forest…I was very disappointed in him…" Percy tapped a finger to his bottom lip, as if thinking of why things had gone the way they had. Harry wondered, distantly, if he found any answers.

"Where is he, Percy?" Harry heard his own voice, soft, frightened like a scared child. Percy looked to him, smiling, and Harry knew he would never have an answer unless he found it himself. Harry cried out, the chill melting off – it had been anger, betrayal, and fury that had started all this, but he would be damned if they were not enough to finish it.

Harry did not notice that the wild magic felt his need for vengeance and blood; he did not hear the answering cries….

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

The men cloaked in black that had stood at ready to either side had left him. His hands were still chained, so too were his feet – and tail. Nightcrawler found it ironic, how they had whispered of his strangeness, of the danger "his kind" – mutants – were to them and "their kind".

It was confusing to follow their talk, they spoke freely (clearly his appearance of an inhuman animalistic devil lulled them to false feelings of safety) around him, strangely, they muttered over magic and mysticism, of "their world" and "his". Nightcrawler could not understand all of their words, but it sunk in, despite the loss of blood that still coated his blue-black fur. It would be a mess to groom.

Nightcrawler let his thoughts linger on their strange murmurs, he could, if pressed, believe it of them that they were, indeed, not like most. Their sticks reminded him of the myths of wands and wizards, yet, still he could not bring himself to believe it. Still they had no weapons, save the wands – and no other way to explain how he had become so trapped, save with bonds and chains that had appeared out of nowhere.

Nightcrawler licked his lips, remembering words that had been spoken to him ("Harry…we've got one of your precious mutants, come collect him or his blood is on your hands…") – yet he was the vessel, the words had been meant for another… nonetheless, Nightcrawler thought of the Harry he knew, who had shared a cage with him for a night, then disappeared, he had worried until the facility had been all but destroyed.

It occurred to Nightcrawler, slowly, that he ought to try to escape, now that he was not being watched. He hadn't wanted them to know of this ability…

 _Bamf_!

Nightcrawler stumbled, falling faintly dizzy and more then a little sick, he saw the ground coming up, and knew he would fall. He did not. Arms wrapped around him, holding him up while he steadied himself.

"Easy…" Nightcrawler recognized Logan's voice, and breathed a little easier. He was not in the arms of an enemy – or of one of the wizards. Logan looked about to say something, and then Nightcrawler flinched as cries – like a woman screaming, a beast growling, and some song howling on the wind – filled the air. He could not seem to think, until Logan tightened his grip on him, and then spoke lowly, slow, tightly controlled, showing none of the strain that tensed his body – Nightcrawler had to strain to hear him.

"Get us out of here." Nightcrawler did as told, without question – as he did not want to linger. Something bad was going to happen.

 _Bamf_!

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Harry…" It was whisper soft, dreading any sort of answer.

Snow littered the ground; she had to wade through it as if it was high tide on the beach. Wanda's breath came in cloudy puffs, above her the sky swirled in darkness. It was daybreak. She could not really remember what had happened after she had heard the cry that summoned to mind bloodlust, it still haunted her. It ached, as if a itch she could not scratch, though longed to. Wanda knew with a certain longing that sinking into that mindset, it had been something that she would never forget, would long for.

That wouldn't stop her form killing Grwy or Wyrd if she ever got a hold of them. It was just as well that they were gone. Vanished. A little ways ahead off to the side, she saw Rogue moving more easily through the snow – above them two shadows flew, circling, watching for any sign of life.

It wasn't much to hope for, the grove of trees suffered to be blackened husks of their former selves, and somehow – it was snowing. The only reason Wanda and Rogue were so sure Harry had been here was the itch at the back of their throats and noses, almost smoke like, a sort of burnt-spice. It was the same smell – the call – that had led them here. Something very like it tugged in her memory, she had slaughtered and maimed wizards (and, possibly, witches) with a scent of that likeness, though it paled in comparison.

Her crimson sky serpent, Azel (she did not know how she knew its name, only that between falling and now she simply did) let out an uneasy questioning call. Hopefully, Rogue and Wanda traded glances – Rogue called out, her voice quaking at the end.

"Harry…?" There was nothing worse, Wanda thought drearily, and then being in the wake of a disaster and finding you were alone. Harry might have thought he killed them by calling for them. Or he might not know they had come at all. Most of all, both Wanda and Rogue hoped that Harry would be alive, and aware…

Rogue's black Zeim cried out in affirmative, the two circled the curiosity while Wanda and Rogue rushed to reach them.

"Harry!" Rogue saw it first, the silvery fur and black stripes over the tiger, blending well into the snow. Green eyes blinked open at their call, and Wanda's worry that Harry might not be Harry in this form was washed away to mere relief.

" _Wha…?"_ Those green eyes, if not the voice within their minds - recognized them; Rogue mumbled soft reassurances as she petted Harry's head and scratched his ears. Harry yawned, stretching out his massive paws and extending feline claws, his entire posture telling them that he found the entire situation amusing.

It was then that Harry noticed his own shape, and with something like a snarl he hid his face in his paws. Wanda started snickering, then could not hold in her laughter, Rogue at first disapproving, let her lips twitch and was soon joining her – Harry grumbled not-words under his breath.

That was how the others found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver Claws and Cat Tails touched on a lot of things, mostly though, I was being childish about it, if I should continue with this story, its world will get somewhat darker then what I've been playing about with. I've left this off where it could be the end; a middle ground, if you will. I might pick this up and dust it off and carry onward to an ending that follows into a misted crossroad; or I could leave off and go another way. It isn't as if this is my only story, though it – as does every one of my stories – it means something to me, it does not mean everything. I'm not sure I have a story that means everything to me. Not yet, maybe never, though, if I ever do, I'm not sure I could share it, well, what I'm saying is this; I do not know what I will do with this, so I hope – for the moment – you are satisfied with this ending.
> 
> Nonetheless, it must be stated, I came to writing this with three goals in mind; to write Harry into the Brotherhood, to write mutants into Hogwarts, and then to write Harry into Xavier's school, likewise, only one goal has seen fruition; thus, it will likely go onward to a sequel, then, likely, another of like kind; if it does go on at all.
> 
> Or I shall go and drabble out something else to fulfill my goals, but first I want to do some cleaning up of this story – namely; making sure there are no lingering accidents with Brotherhood members knowing Harry's name before he tells them; and getting Remy's and Rogue's accents just-right, bugs the hell out of me in the itch-under-skin-can-not-scratch way with how ratty it is now, sorry, I'm a old-school stickler to these sorts of things. So, if anyone is interested in helping me out with either of these two things – or in merely editing the whole, speak up now, or hold your peace and grit your teeth.
> 
> It will take a while; count your selves lucky….
> 
> At one point in time last week, when I had only gotten a page out and thought the rest would never come…I wanted to re-write this entire story without ever finishing it…I almost cried with relief when it came to me at whole on April 1, if by chance this is some miss-guided cosmic "April Fools" due to my muses…I am not amused. Alright, the irony is a little tempting after all is said and written… thank god for LynnGryphon talking sense into me about finishing this…
> 
> One last thing, the sequel – if there is a sequel – will be called;
> 
> "Flick of Flame and Silver Hair".

**Author's Note:**

> ....well as this idea just sort of sprung up on me…if anyone has got a "mutant" name in mind for Harry, speak - erm – review now. Please?
> 
> Notice; In this chapter, on the first day of posting, I wrote the following "As if a final defiance – his knees and legs jolted backwards – and when he peeled an eye open, he saw they were like a cats hind legs." This, the second day of this story's existiance...I would like to scribble that out and write the words "idiot's logic" in bolded and underlined next to that – short of that, I thank the following for bringing my mistake to light, Garnet Avi, Elkrim, and loko-ka; most especially Garnet Avi.
> 
> I confess to realizing this with a sudden sickening lurch authors get when they see they've done something horribly, frighteningly, wrong. Akin to writer-sin – I'd screwed up in cats (and mammals in general) biology. -Sobs- I'm so sorry! –whimpers- I was thinking "The Arrival" (movie) when I wrote that, for no real reason other then alien-in-human body had inverted knees (seriously they popped backwards…I think…) had a profound effect on me as a youngling. –Whimpers- can you ever forgive me for driving your INTJ self insane, Garnet Avi?
> 
> Short of that, let me reassure you that there is a reasonable, logical explanation for Ron's sudden mood swing, I thank you for any worry you comment on that I am making him "OOC", but, really, give me more then a chapter to explain.


End file.
